


The After Party

by binch_over_troubled_water



Series: Jeff and Britta [1]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Angst, Borderline fluff and smut, Childhood Trauma, Cunnilingus, Denial of Feelings, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Family Issues, Is jeff catching feelings?, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Sex, Smut, Trauma, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, but wait, could it be?, facesitting, porn with plot?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binch_over_troubled_water/pseuds/binch_over_troubled_water
Summary: Original Summary:This takes place immediately after season 2 episode 10, ("Mixology Certification" i.e. Troy's birthday). Jeff and Britta wind up hooking up after all and uh oh. Do they....... actually maybe like each other a little bit? Let's find out.Update: This fic has taken a totally different direction than I had originally planned. It turned in to porn with feelings pretty quickly, and I'm just gonna roll with it.
Relationships: Britta Perry/Jeff Winger
Series: Jeff and Britta [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904422
Comments: 12
Kudos: 63





	1. Jeff and Britta Catching Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> I don't care if you're pro Jeff/Annie, I think that's creepy and gross, so here, have some more age appropriate romance.  
> Thank you!

Troy pulls Jeff’s car in to the parking spot in the underground parking lot. How is it, Jeff wonders, that Troy wound up being the only sober one on his own birthday? “Thanks again, buddy,” he says, and he’s embarrassed by the slur he can hear in his voice. He didn’t mean to get so fucked up tonight, but this seems to happen every time he finds himself in a bar with Britta. Their competitiveness runs through every interaction. Whether it’s grades on a test, or trivia night, or -- tonight, at least -- the number of shots of whiskey they can put away in a single sitting. It used to irritate him, the childish back and forth they had, but these days it feels more like foreplay. Some way of building the tension back up between them before they tear it all down again in the bedroom. Or the broom closet. Or the study room table. 

Troy tosses him his keys, Jeff drops them. “You two are sure you’re okay to walk home from here?”

“Yes,” Troy insists, and cocks an eyebrow. “Are  _ you _ ?”

Jeff smirks. “My bed is just an elevator away.” 

Abed steps out of the backseat, and Jeff feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment again. “Sorry Britta and I made out next to you,” he says bashfully.

“It’s okay,” Abed affirms. “It was just a matter of time before I wound up entangled in whatever it is that’s going on between you two.” 

Jeff doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“Well, thanks for letting me drive your car, man. Best birthday gift ever.” 

“No problem,” Jeff smiles. “You’re a great driver.” 

Troy beams. “I know, right? I’m not even going to bother getting a license!” 

_ “What?”  _

* * *

Jeff has barely made it through his door when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He doesn’t even have to look at the screen to know who it is. “Britta,” he breathes. 

“Jeff,” she says back. He can tell she’s masking her self-consciousness under the affected sexy voice she’s putting on. But it’s working. 

“You coming over?” he asks, peeling off a sock. 

“Duh-doy. Already on the way, Tiger,” she tells him. 

He sighs. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“Enough times that you’ll have to punish me for it,” she muses suggestively, and it sends a shudder down his spine, and a rush of blood straight to his cock. 

“Well then you should get your ass over here, Pussycat,” he growls back, and regrets it immediately. 

“Jesus, Jeff. Gross.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t like that either,” he says, chuckling. “But seriously, get over here.” 

She hangs up before he can say: “I need you right now.” 

* * *

The door swings open. Did he leave it unlocked? How drunk is he?

“Hey,” Britta says, smiling softly. Her cheeks are pink from the cold outside air, and her hair is a little wild. She looks so beautiful, but he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of telling her that. 

“Hey,” he says back breathlessly, and she starts to peel off her coat. Inch by inch, a little more flesh. That smooth spot on the curve of her neck that he’s come to know so well. He steps towards her, and kisses it before he can stop himself, breathing in a deep whiff of her. Whiskey and weed. But also clove, and oranges, and some cheap kind of vanilla bean body wash. It’s intoxicating. She pulls away from his embrace, throws her coat over the back of a chair. She knows how much he hates it when she leaves her shit all over his place, but he’s too distracted by the shirt being pulled over her head to care. 

“Ah, this old thing,” he says, moving closer to her again and cupping both hands over her oldest, ugliest bra. “My old friend,” he muses against her throat, kissing a line down her collarbone and then between her breasts. 

“Wore it just for you,” she whispers in to the top of his head, breath warm against his scalp. He snakes a hand around and unclasps the back of it deftly, pulling it down and away from her body. It’s December, and the months of gloomy weather have left her skin practically glowing white in the dim light of his apartment. His fingers trace the little speckles of beauty marks of her belly. 

“You look like a ghost,” he says, somehow hoping it will come off affectionately. 

She pulls away from his touch again. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, her face contorting in to a scowl. Somehow it almost makes her even prettier. This is how he knows her best, he realizes. 

“You’re so pale it’s…” he trails off, bringing a hand to her cheek and drawing her close, pressing his chest to hers, feeling the stiffening points of her nipples through his own shirt. “It’s really pretty. You look really pretty.” It just kind of slips out, an involuntary confession of the effect she has on him. That she’s always had on him. 

“Um, racist much?” she huffs, but he saw the flicker of a smile spread across her face when he called her pretty. “Not all of us are vain enough to lie in a tanning bed once a week.” 

“Hey, I think Pierce looks pretty good for an old guy,” Jeff shoots back, now prying at her belt buckle. She laughs and he shortens it with a kiss. Her mouth opens to his, tongue sweeping it eagerly. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, his neck, drawing him down to her. 

* * *

They stumble to the bedroom in a flurry of kisses, clothes abandoned left and right. He pulls her in to his bed, rolling on top of her to take a good long look. Her lips are swollen from kissing, chest flushed and heaving in anticipation. He wishes he could preserve this moment, with her in his bed, her legs spread eagerly for him, mouth hanging open and miraculously not speaking. But then again, maybe that’s just part of the appeal. Britta’s insufferable, sure. But she always means well, and her heart is in the right place. She genuinely wants to make the world a better place, she just goes about it in the most annoying ways possible. And sometimes his irritation with her just seems to make him want her more. His train of thought is broken when she says: “Well, c’mon, Winger,” gesturing her chin down between her legs. “Gobble gobble.” 

He groans exasperatedly. “Jesus Christ, did  _ Gigli  _ teach you nothing? That has got to be the least sexy thing you could ever say in the bedroom.” 

“Yeah, but you’re gonna do it anyways, aren’t you?” she grins, and reaches for the top drawer of his side table where she always leaves herself a stash of weed, procuring a joint and a lighter. It used to make him insane, to have the lingering scent of pot so close to his head every single night. But now even that is a quiet comfort to him. A little token of her. He's never let anyone so much as keep pyjamas or a toothbrush at his place, let alone a stash of drugs. What the fuck is wrong with him? He shakes it off. 

He positions himself between her legs and without warning swipes his tongue along the inside of one of her thighs, eliciting a surprised gasp of delight from Britta. This is the only time she’s really quiet, when he goes down on her, because she’s too focused on watching him to make some stupid comment. As he kisses the tuft of soft hair at the juncture of her thighs, she lights the joint and takes a long drag. Their eyes are locked, and Jeff feels his cock twitch as the smoke circles around her head, some sort of blasphemous halo. 

His lips meet her centre and she shudders, eyes still locked to his as his tongue begins to slide up and down, up and down. He knows exactly what she likes now, from the head rush she gets from the joint, to the finger he slides in to her painstakingly slowly. He feels goosebumps arise on the flesh of her thighs, and takes her free hand in to his. “Does that feel good?” he mumbles in to her, and he watches her nod wordlessly. He presses on, rocking his hips in to the mattress as he feels his arousal rising with hers. “You want me to make you come?” he asks, a second finger joining the first, and feeling her delicate muscles flutter. She nods desperately, joint hanging from her lips as her own fingers wind in to his hair, pressing him harder in to her and grinding her hips a little, fucking herself on to his tongue. She’s so sexy like this, he thinks, using him to get herself off. 

He could spend the rest of the night down there, but seemingly in an instant, she’s coming and he can feel it pulsating through her. The joint falls from her mouth but they’re both too distracted to notice or care. He’s enamoured by her, in awe of the majesty of her body in orgasm, her writhing under him as he works every last contraction out of her. 

“I want you so bad, like right now,” he tells her. “Grab a condom.” 

“I didn’t bring any,” she says, still catching her breath. 

“There should be some in the side table,” he insists, kissing his way back up her body. There’s a faint smell of burning. What is that coming from?

She rifles through the drawer to no avail. “Nothing here.” There’s a long, frustrated silence. “We don’t have to use one, I’m not ovulating right now.” 

“How could you possibly know that?” he scoffs, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m a  _ woman,  _ Jeff. I’m profoundly in tune with my body at all times,” Britta shoots back, irritated and speaking far too loud. 

“Your hair is on fire right now.”

She smiles. “Thanks, Jeff.” 

“No, I mean it’s literally on fire,” he grabs a pillow and smothers the little flame next to her face that’s been ignited by the forgotten joint. “Jesus Christ, Britta. Are you okay?” 

She’s laughing, too drunk to feel afraid. “I’m sorry,” she says through a snort. “Did you put it out?” 

“Yeah,” he says, pushing a singed bit of blonde hair away and resting a palm on her cheek. “I put it out.” He’s above her now, his erection pressed between their bellies. “Are you sure you don’t want to use protection? You could go down to the corner store.” 

“Oh, could I?” she says sarcastically. Silence again as he’s suspended above her, hand still resting gently on her warm, smooth cheek. “Let’s just do it,” she kisses his hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“The worst that could happen? A Winger-Perry child. Probably the most self centred, abrasive—“

She cuts him off. “Good looking!” 

“Good looking, obviously — human being to ever walk the earth.” 

“Jeff I don’t want to talk about babies right now, please just fuck me.” 

“Okay.” 

* * *

“Oh my god,” they whisper in unison when Britta guides the tip of his swollen cock to her sex. She’s slick, still sensitive from orgasm, and eager for him, hips bucking up his. When he finally pushes in to her and she clenches tightly around him, the effect is so pleasurable he almost feels himself blacking out. “Jesus, Britta.” 

“Feel good, baby?” she groans as he begins to thrust in and out. 

“Don’t call me baby, baby,” he sighs against her throat, too wrapped up in how great she feels around him to fully commit to his irritation. She leans up to him, kissing him forcefully and then flipping them so he finds himself on his back, staring up at her. 

If it wasn’t so pornographic, she would almost look angelic, smooth skin and blonde hair shimmering in under the moonlight pouring in through the window. His heart stops, his breath catches. “Wow,” he says breathlessly. She bends to kiss him again. Slowly, sweetly. This kiss feels out of place amid the frantic desperation of their fucking.

Her hands rake over his broad shoulders to his chest, resting there when she begins her slow, deliberate glide up and down on his aching cock. His hips jerk involuntarily upward in to her and she moans loudly so he does it again, this time on purpose. His hands wrap around her waist tightly, and he’s desperate to steady himself, but the way she’s rocking against him he knows they don’t have much time. 

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her and he doesn’t even care to stop himself now. “Britta, you’re so beautiful, you feel so good. So good.” 

“Yeah?” she whimpers and he takes her breasts in to his hands, kneading them gently before pushing himself upright to take a stiffened nipple between his lips, earning a long sigh. 

“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he confesses against her tender flesh. They’re so close now, completely entwined together, but he brings one arm around her to draw her even closer, forcing himself as deep as he can in to her. A low, guttural growl escapes his lips. “Britta, you're going to make me come.” 

“Uh-huh,” she moans, looking smugly self satisfied until he takes her other nipple in to his mouth and she throws her head back. “Come inside me,” she whispers, hips careening on. 

“W-what?” he stutters. 

“I want you to come inside me,” she insists, and it’s all Jeff can do to keep it from happening at that very moment. One of her smooth hands slides between their bodies, and she begins to draw little circles around her clit, drawing herself towards orgasm once again. 

“Britta, are you sure?” he’s flabbergasted. What happened to her womanly body being a temple of respect and dignity? 

“Do it,” she pleads with him, their eyes locked. “Please.” 

And that’s all it takes for him to plummet off the edge, spasming up in to her over and over again, hot waves of pleasure crashing over him and nearly bowling him over. He can feel her coming too, tightening and clenching around him spasmodically, her thighs shaking. He holds her tight against him, and her arms and legs wrap around him, holding him desperately and urging every last drop out of him as they begin to still. His heart is pounding against hers. 

“That was…” he starts finally.

“Unbelievable,” she finishes for him, still wrapped tightly around him. She kisses the top of his shoulder and pulls back to look him in the eye. He’s still hard inside of her as he caresses her cheek, eye contact unbroken. 

He’s never felt like this before, certainly not with Britta. It’s like a knot in his chest has finally become unwound, and now all he wants is to hold her, to be near her. To sleep with her and find her still in his bed when he wakes up in the morning. “Will you stay?” 

She smiles. “Yeah, for a bit.” 

“No, I…” he begins, losing his nerve for a moment. “I want you to stay over. I want to…” he almost feels nauseous choking out the unfamiliar words. “Make breakfast for you in the morning.” 

Britta’s brow furrows, and she’s scanning his face for any sign of sarcasm, but it isn’t there. He really means it. “You’re not catching feelings, are you, Winger?” she snorts, but there’s a little flicker of sincerity in her eyes, too. 

When Britta rolls off of him and he feels the loss immediately, and he decides not to fight the urge to pull himself closer to her. She seems surprised, almost upset by his clinginess. “What’s going on, Jeff? I let you hit it raw once and now you’re gonna start getting romantic?” 

He laughs at her saying “hit it raw”, because it sounds so preposterous on her tongue. But for some reason instead of rolling his eyes, he kisses her softly, pushing a stray lock of hair out her beautiful deep blue eyes. 

“Nah, I just think we could both use the company,” he insists, spooning himself against her, taking one of her hands and pulling it tightly against her chest. Her body stiffens for a moment, then relaxes back in to him. 

“Well, I have always been curious about your deluxe waffle maker,” she concludes. 

“Perfect,” he mutters sleepily against her neck. “It never gets used. Too many carbs.” 

She laughs, and he can feel it rumble against his chest. “God, you’re so lame.” 

He brings his fingers to his mouth to kiss them each gingerly before they find their place wrapped around his again. “Well, you’re the worst. Maybe that’s what makes this work.” 

“Maybe,” she mutters before they both drift to sleep. 


	2. Jeff and Britta in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoops the smut is growing legs.   
> This follows the aftermath of Jeff and Britta's tryst, and things take a turn. I'm terrible at writing summaries.

When Britta wakes up, she’s still clinging to Jeff’s heavy arm, which is draped over her. Her head is fuzzy and throbbing with pain. Too much whiskey. She wriggles around, trying not to disturb Jeff’s sleep, just wanting to get a look at his face. She’s never stayed at his place this long. She’s never really wanted to. She had expected, as she drifted off to sleep the night before, she would be racked with regret the moment she woke up. 

But here, studying his face as he snores softly, she feels no regret. She actually finds herself smiling stupidly at him, trying to count each of his individual, impossibly dense eyelashes. He’s so peaceful in sleep. Perhaps most importantly, he can’t make snide, belittling comments about her when he’s dreaming. She brushes a gentle hand over his brow and his eyes flutter open. He looks confused for a moment. Then relieved. 

“Oh,” he smiles. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” she says back, her voice coming out more like a croak. “Morning voice.” 

“Cute,” he says, and there’s not even a hint of sarcasm. “We’ve never made it to the morning.” 

“I know. You know I like to be out of here before sunrise. Helps with the shame” she says jokingly, but simultaneously snuggling up to him despite her better judgement. She squints. “God, it’s so bright in here.”

“I know,” he moans. “Great for the view, bad for the hangovers.” 

She nibbles at his shoulder playfully and he pulls her flush against his side. “Hey, can you do that thing again? That you did last night.”

“Oh, you mean this?” he asks, eyebrow arched. He flips her on to her back quickly and dives under the sheets to the intersection of her legs. 

Immediately, she’s awash with pleasure. “Mhmm,” she confirms, pushing the sheet away so she can marvel in watching him work. Damn him, he’s good at this. He intuits her body’s needs without her needing to say a word. And he’s weirdly adorable in the morning, his hair uncharacteristically messy, his eyes gentle and still a little glassy with sleep. But he’s single mindedly determined in his task, working quickly and deliberately, and already she feels tightness in her abdomen. 

“Britta,” he mumbles against her most sensitive spot, his voice sending vibrations up her spine. 

She groans inarticulately in response, beyond words. “God, Britta, you taste so good,” he tells her and plunges his dexterous fingers deep inside her, finding that sweet spot intuitively and working over it again and again. 

The sex has always been good. Great, even. But this is new. They’ve never really talked before. Certainly not in the  _ Britta, you’re so beautiful, you taste so good, I want you to stay  _ kind of way. The genuine affection confuses, almost frustrates her, and heightens her orgasm when it comes crashing quickly over her. He nips at the tender insides of her thighs, fingers still gliding in and out of her, coaxing out every last shudder of her body. 

When he fucks her this time it’s slow, gentle. So unlike the frenzied desperation of all their previous trysts, and even last night. She kisses his chest, his arms, his clavicle as he moves above her. “Wrap your legs around me. Pull me in, pull me in,” he whispers and she shivers, obeying his request to both of their delight. 

“I’m going to come,” he whispers in her ear, and he looks her right in the eyes when it happens. She watches it flash over her face, relishes in the gasps and groans. She likes having this power over him, that she can make him feel like this. It makes her feel beautiful. But it also gives her the briefest window of time where she gets to have the upper hand, total control over him. He’s so vulnerable, so enraptured in her. Jeff collapses on to her, face nuzzled in to the nape of her neck. 

“Britta?” 

“Mhmm,” she replies, stroking the smooth skin of his back gently. 

He lifts his head to look up at her. “You’re amazing. And for some reason I don’t feel embarrassed right now saying that.” 

She furrows her brow, but laughs it off. “I  _ know _ , right? Just wait til you get your after-breakfast blowjob.” 

His eyebrows raise. “Oh yeah?” he grins wolfishly. His face softens again. “Seriously, though. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t feel angry, or spiteful, or even irritated. But you’re still here.”

Britta rolls her eyes, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Come on, man. We’ve always enjoyed each others’ company.” 

He rolls on to his back next to her, and starts tracing little circles around one of her nipples absentmindedly. “No,” he insists. “We really haven’t. I started a study group to get in your pants and then almost immediately bailed when I found out you’re an insufferable downer.” 

Now she sits bolt upright. “Jesus Christ, Jeff! I just let you come inside me.  _ Twice.  _ Would an insufferable downer do that?” 

Jeff laughs and takes one of her hands. “Sorry, that was harsh.” 

“At least I’m not a washed-up sex pest with daddy issues and an unchecked superiority complex,” she shoots. “But with the insecurity of a thirteen year old girl and an aging hairline.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, squeezing her hand and again bringing it to his mouth to kiss it. His lips are so soft. “First of all, my hairline is intact. If you’re going to roast me, it has to be accurate. And second of all, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to turn this in to an argument. I’m just saying, that’s always been our natural state. Conflict. But when I woke up this morning and you were the first thing I saw it just felt…” 

“ _ Right _ , right?” she finishes for him. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Right.”

Weird. Britta has an unsettled feeling deep in her belly. She ignores it for now.

* * *

Britta insists on using her own recipe for the waffles, so they are terrible, but she feels a deep affection for Jeff as he good-naturedly chokes one of them down anyways. “You don’t have to do that,” she laughs. “I don’t think I can even finish mine.” 

“They’re not that bad,” Jeff lies badly, spitting a grainy mouthful in to a napkin. 

“Seriously, Jeff, don’t start coddling me now.” 

He’s pulled his boxer briefs back on for breakfast, but Britta is naked doing dishes. She's watching him watch her. 

He stands from his stool and positions himself behind her, pinning her against the counter top. 

“C’mere,” he says, pressing his growing erection on her ass insistently, and of course they wind up fucking again in the kitchen, Jeff spraying, then licking whip cream off her breasts before she drops to her knees to come through on her earlier promise. He pulls her hair back, away from her face so he can watch her lips purse tightly around him. “My god. Look at you,” he sighs, leaning back in to his chair, head lolling back before his eyes squeeze shut. When she knows he’s getting close she stands, pushing him in to a chair and climbing in to his lap, sliding his cock in to her unceremoniously and grinding down on to him until they’re both spent. 

They tumble back to bed after that to sleep off their hangovers, stirring occasionally to make out some more before folding back in to one another's embrace. 

* * *

Clarity.

“So,” Britta finally says, when staying in bed any longer finally feels more uncomfortable than cozy. “What now?” 

Jeff considers this for a moment, wiping sleep from his eyes and standing. “ Do you want to… I don’t know, go for a walk?” 

Britta laughs. “No, not really. I need to get home to my cats.”

He looks crushed. “Oh, okay. Can I drive you?” 

“Jeff,” Britta says, rifling around the mess they’ve left on the floor for her underwear. “I know it feels like we’ve had some sort of breakthrough. And trust me, I’ve had a really great time. Really great. But I don’t want you to start treating me like…” she trails off. 

“Like what?” he asks sternly. 

“Like we’re… you know. Together.” 

“Oh,” he says flatly. Wait, was that what  _ he _ wanted? 

“I mean, you don’t seriously think…” she starts. “You don’t think that would work, do you?” 

He sits on the bed again in front of her, considering this. “I guess,” he says ambiguously.

Britta is exasperated. Of course this is what she wanted. Or it  _ was,  _ for like a minute, a year and a half ago. Before she actually got to know Jeff, and realized what he was  _ actually  _ like. With all that ego, and baggage, and snipiness. “As a therapist…” 

“You’re not a fucking therapist, Britta,” he says harshly, and even though he’s said this to her a hundred times, this time it makes tears spring to her eyes. 

“As a therapist, which I  _ will  _ be someday,” she insists, and is furious at the wavering in her voice. “I don’t think you’re good for me. You’re only nice to me when you feel like it. You don’t support me or my dreams. You don’t believe in me. And I think any good therapist would tell me that dating another guy like you would just wind up hurting me. I can’t keep going through this cycle.” 

She lets that hang in the air for a minute, and tries to keep her shoulders from visibly trembling when a tear rolls out of one eye. God damn it, how did this take such a turn? And why, after a lifetime of entanglements with men who don’t respect her, is she turning away from this one specifically? 

Jeff looks miserable, like the wind has been knocked out of him, and he won’t look at her. “But you stayed for breakfast,” he says pathetically, bewildered. 

She sits next to him, takes his hand in to hers gently. Squeezes. Releases. “I was hungry.” 

Jeff winces. 

* * *

Her iPod has died overnight, so Britta walks home in silence. 

“Walk of shaaaame,” her idiot neighbour Michael bellows when she passes him. 

“No shame in my game, asshole,” she retorts, although that’s not entirely true this time. Her cats greet her eagerly, meowing loudly. “Hello babies, I’m sorry I’m so late.” She feeds them quickly and gets in the shower. 

She tries to wash off his smell, the remnants of him that still linger, and now finally she really cries. Britta does her best crying in the shower, big cartoonish gasps and sputters of sobs muffled by the rush of water, tears washed away down the drain. No one has to know how much she hurts.

* * *

Study group on Monday is noticeably tense. Jeff won’t look at her, she won’t look at Jeff. 

“Something’s off,” Abed says abruptly. “Did you and Britta sleep together again?” 

Annie squeaks. 

“What? No,” Britta says at exactly the same time that Jeff says “Yes, we did.” 

“I knew it,” Abed says. “And you have been for a while, haven’t you?” 

Britta’s eyes dart around the room, looking for an out. Finally they meet Jeff’s. 

“Yes, we have,” he says flatly. “For a year and a half.” 

Annie looks like she’s going to throw up. Shirley looks disgusted. Troy looks vaguely irritated, but not surprised. Pierce looks like he doesn’t know where he is. Abed looks self-satisfied at his successful deduction. She can’t read Jeff’s expression. 

“But that’s over now,” Jeff continues. “You’ll all be relieved to know that we’ve decided that was the last time. Times.” 

“That’s nice,” Shirley says approvingly. “There’s still time to ask for god’s forgiveness for your pre-marital sins.”

Britta doesn’t even say anything to that, because she’s so taken aback by what Jeff said. Is that what they’d decided together, or is that the conclusion he’d come to on his own when she didn’t return his call last night?

* * *

She has to literally chase him down the hall after the bell. “Jeff, Jeff, wait up,” she pants. “What the hell, man?”

“What do you want?” he spits, pushing the door open exaggeratedly to begin stalking across the campus to his car. 

“I want to talk,” Britta says, trying to keep up with his stride. 

That stops him in his tracks. His nostrils flare angrily. “ _ Now  _ you want to talk? After what you did to me?” 

“After what  _ I  _ did to  _ you _ ?” she implores loudly, almost laughing. “What did I do to you Jeff? Make you come five times in twenty-four hours?” she whispers the last part. 

“After that, asshole,” he says through gritted teeth. “You humiliated me. I laid my heart on the line for you and you stomped all over it.” 

“ _ What? _ ” she says, genuinely angry now. “No, you did not, Jeff. You asked me to stay for breakfast, and you let me use your waffle iron.” 

“Yeah, well I’ve never let anyone do that before,” he retorts, swinging his car door open and haphazardly throwing his books in to it before slamming it again. 

“And I’m supposed to just know that? That you’re so emotionally stunted  _ waffles  _ carry the same weight as saying I love you?”

He’s yelling now too. “You know me better than anyone else, I assumed you would be able to pick up on the significance of it!” 

Silence. 

“So you’re saying you love me?” she finally says. 

“I’m saying…” he trails off, rubs a frustrated hand over his eyes. “I’m saying I want to try.”

“No, you don’t, Jeff,” Britta roars. She hadn’t expected, or intended, for all this anger to bubble to the surface, but there’s no stopping it now. “You want a mommy to solve all your fucked up emotional problems and tell you you’re good, that you can shove your dick in to every now and then and ignore when you’re not interested. And then you want to just forget about me and move on to the next thing with boobs that glances your way.” 

“I could never forget about you,” he screams back, opening the driver’s side door too quickly and grimacing when it hits him hard in the hip. A little softer: “Britta, I think about you all the time. Admittedly, half of the time I’m thinking about how pissed off I am at you, but you just… fill up so much space in my head, I… I could never forget about you. Never.” 

Britta is taken aback. “Then why are you so mean to me?” she says, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Because you drive me crazy,” he smiles sadly. “And because I know that you don’t actually like it when people agree with you. You thrive on chaos and you need to feel like the underdog, so that you have something to fight for. Or about.” 

This stuns her in to silence. He’s right, she knows. Half of her identity is built on combativeness, warranted or otherwise. She gets a kick out of pissing people off _. Well behaved women seldom make history  _ is her personal motto . And that need for conflict has always seeped in to her love life, too. She likes guys who don’t really like her. But she's not unpacking that here, with Jeff Winger, in the fucking parking lot of Greendale Community College. “I have to go to class,” she says instead, and turns on her heel. 

Jeff gets in to his car and drives away. 

* * *

They stop speaking to each other altogether. The awkward tension carries on for another month and a half before Troy finally says: “You know what, I think you guys should just go back to having sex. I feel like my parents broke up or something.” 

Everyone — even Annie — concurs, and Jeff and Britta avoid eye contact. “Well, I’m seeing someone else now,” Jeff retorts, and Britta feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. 

“You are?” she asks incredulously, realizing they’re the first words she’s spoken to him since that day in the parking lot. 

“You  _ are? _ ” Pierce asks. “Who’s the lucky broad?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Jeff says. “But her name is Alexis. She goes to City College.” 

“Boooooo,” Troy protests. “Traitor. Is she hot?” 

Jeff stands to leave. “Look at me. Of course she’s hot.” 

The anxious nausea that Britta has been feeling for weeks is rising to the surface, and she bolts from the library hoping to make it to the nearest bathroom. Failing that, she pukes in to the nearest garbage can as Garrett looks on in horror. 

* * *

It’s almost midnight when Britta texts him. 

_ 11:51 PM — I need to talk to you.  _

She sits in the darkness for a moment, staring at the wall. Her phone buzzes. 

_ 11:52 PM — Okay. Can I come over?  _

Relief. Anxiety. Anticipation. 

_ 11:52 PM — Ok. Can you bring pickles?  _

  
  
  
  



	3. Intro to Family Studies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title gives it away.

Jeff paces back and forth outside Britta’s apartment building for ten minutes. What the fuck does she want now? To twist the knife a little deeper? 

He’s had time to mull over the things she said to him. That he’s bad for her, that they’re bad for each other. 

Alexis isn’t real, of course. He hasn’t been able to look at — let alone sleep with — other women since their blow up in the parking lot. But he needed to protect his ego somehow. And maybe to entice Britta back to him. He wanted to see how she would react. Manipulative? Maybe. But effective, seemingly. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Britta is calling him. He answers. 

“Hello?” 

“I see you pacing,” she tells him. Damn it. He always forgets she can see the entrance to the building from her kitchen window. “Do you want to come up?”

“Yeah, okay,” he hits the buzzer and swings the door open. He has a jar of pickles under one arm as he strides in to the elevator, smirking as he recalls the time they had drunkenly pulled the emergency lever so that they could fuck in front of the floor length mirrors inside. Jeff shakes off the memory when the doors slide open and he begins his sullen walk down the hall. 

* * *

She’s been crying, he realizes immediately. 

“Hey,” he says gently, instantly letting go of whatever stony resolve he had. “I brought you pickles.” 

Britta bursts in to tears and throws her arms around him, her grip a vice around his midsection. “I missed you so much,” she sobs in to his chest, her whole body shaking. 

He uses his free arm to pull her in, resting his head on top of hers and taking a deep breath of her. The dull ache that’s been following him around since she left vanishes in an instant. _It’s only been forty-one days,_ he wants to tell her, but he realizes that the fact that the number pops in to his head means he’s been counting them. “I missed you too,” he tells her. She’s been sitting right next to him in study group this whole time, but it feels like they haven’t seen each other for years. 

She pulls back so she can look him in the eye. Hers are bleary, red, swollen. She looks exhausted, but luminous. Radiant. Terrifyingly beautiful. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, still not letting her go. He feels like if he lets go of her for even a second she’s going to crumble and vanish. 

She weeps again, body racked with sobs. She’s so small, so fragile under his wing. “Britta, I’m sorry. I’m gonna drop the pickles. Can we sit down?” 

“Yeah,” she whimpers, laughing through her tears. She takes the jar from him and guides him to the couch, sitting down almost uncomfortably close to him. Their thighs touch. She scarfs down a pickle eagerly, barely pausing to chew. 

“Easy, Tiger,” he coos, his fingers brushing against her knee unintentionally, electrifying him. Her eyes dart towards him, then back to her hands. 

“Oh, so you can call me Tiger, but not the other way around?” she says slyly. 

Jeff laughs, genuinely laughs. “Them’s the rules, Tiger.” 

“It _is_ kind of annoying, isn’t it?” she says, reaching for another pickle. They sit together, silent but for the crunching of her late night snack.

“So, did you call me over just to deliver kosher treats?” he asks, easing back in to his seat. 

She wiggles a little farther away from him, leaning against the arm of the couch and tucking her legs underneath her. “No, but thanks again,” she says, going in for a third pickle. Jesus. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Okay.” 

“Is Alexis real?” she blurts out, mouth still half full of fermented cucumber. 

Jeff chuckles. “No, she isn’t. I had a feeling you would see through that one.” 

She smiles weakly. “Okay, well that’s good.” 

Another awkward silence. 

“Good?” Jeff asks. 

“Good,” she confirms. She’s fidgeting, squirmy. He can tell that she wants to say something but she can’t work up the nerve. 

“Spit it out, Perry,” he says, because he can’t bear the discomfort. 

“I’m pregnant.”

* * *

Jeff’s ears are ringing. The world is swirling around him, his vision narrowing. Is he going to faint? 

“Are you going to faint?” she asks, genuine concern in her voice. She touches his forearm, feather soft. 

“I don’t…” he can’t finish his sentence. “Are you…” 

She stands, scurrying to the kitchen, and returns with a glass of whiskey. 

“The pickles?” he finally chokes out after downing the drink. 

She nods. “Craving them like crazy. That was my first clue.” 

“When did you find out?” he asks, slowly feeling himself come back to earth. 

“Today,” she confesses. “I didn’t even notice that I hadn’t gotten my period in ages, and then I went and took a pregnancy test after school. And then another. And then like, four more.” 

“You didn’t notice you weren’t getting your period?” he asks accusingly. “I thought you were deeply in tune with your body at all times.” 

Her lip wobbles and she starts to cry again. 

“Oh no, Britta. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he takes her hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“I really thought it would be okay,” she says. “I really, _really_ fucking Britta’d this one.” 

He laughs in spite of the situation, then quiets. “Hey, it takes two to make a baby. I knew what I was possibly getting myself in to. And it felt _so_ good,” he says gently, with a twinkle in his eye. “So… what do you want to do?” 

She bites at her thumb nail nervously. “I don’t know yet. It’s all so new. What do you want to do?” 

He draws closer to her, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Right now I really just want to kiss you.” 

“Really?” she whispers incredulously. “Okay.” 

She tastes like vinegar and dill. 

* * *

She takes him to her bed and he curls himself around her, palm resting delicately on her belly. “Are you scared?” he asks, cutting through the nervous quiet. 

“Yeah,” she tells him truthfully. “Terrified.” 

“Are you going to keep it?” 

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I didn’t want to have kids until after I’d established a career, but let’s be real. I don’t think that’s ever really going to happen.” 

“Hey,” he says, breath ruffling the top of her hair. “Don’t say that. You’re going to be a therapist, or a psychiatrist or whatever.” 

“You don’t actually believe that,” she says grimly. 

“No, but _you_ do,” he persists. “Britta, it doesn’t matter what I think. If you want something, and you say you’re going to do it, then there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re going to make that happen. You’re like, annoyingly determined when you set your mind to something.” 

“Okay,” she says, rolling over to face him. “I think I want to have this baby.” 

“You _think_ you do?”  
“I know I want to,” she affirms. “I know I do.” 

“Then I guess we’re having a baby,” Jeff grins.   
“Oh my god, we’re having a baby,” she laughs. “It’s gonna be the hottest baby ever.” 

Jeff groans, but kisses her. “Is it weird that I really want to have sex with you right now?”

“Not at all, dude. I have been so insanely horny this whole time,” she says, then kisses him fiercely. He melts in to her immediately. She whispers: “Touch me.” 

Jeff doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands rove over her body, sliding under her white tank top to find her breasts, nipples puckered already. She whines. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Does that hurt?” 

“They’re so sensitive,” she complains, rolling on to her back and pulling her shirt over her head. His eyes widen. Her breasts have already become a little more swollen. How come he hadn’t noticed this before now? Maybe because he’s been spending so much time trying to avoid looking at her at all. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispers, and kisses her left nipple, then right, lips barely brushing over the delicate, sore pinkness of her skin. She shivers, goosebumps raising all over. 

He kisses her over and over. Every inch of her. The crook of her elbow. The tips of her sweet little toes. The creases of her palms. He’s so entranced by her smell, the smoothness of her skin, the softness of her hair. She’s never been so beautiful as she is right now, and he tells her again and again until he’s sure she believed him. Her body arches in to his touch, drawing him nearer. He watches her come, studies her face, tries to memorize the sweet sounds she makes. He’s in awe of her. 

Afterwards, he hovers over her belly, trying to tell if it’s begun to swell at all, even though he knows it’s too soon to tell. “There’s a baby in there.” 

“I know, right? I mean, it’s not a _baby,_ baby. It’s probably like the size of a thumbtack or something,” she smiles, reaching for the bong on her bedside table before stopping herself. “Oh god, I can’t smoke anymore, can I?” 

“Not unless you want our thumbtack to wind up at Greendale, too,” he jokes. He’s surprised by how natural, how pleasant this feels. She’s sitting up against the headboard and he rests his head in her lap. Britta’s fingers play with his hair gently, lulling him almost to sleep. 

“We should probably talk about this some more in the morning,” she muses quietly. 

“Mhmm,” he agrees, finding one of her free hands to cling to. 

“Waffles?” she asks, half-jokingly. 

“I thought you said you wanted to keep the baby. Your waffles are like the culinary equivalent of Plan B,” he says before he can stop himself. 

She gasps, and he looks up to see if it’s genuine horror at his dark joke. She’s grinning maniacally. “Jeff, that’s terrible. I got my own waffle machine and learned a new recipe, I promise.” 

“Whatever you want, Britta,” he says, resting back on the tops of her thighs. 

“I want to name the baby Gertrude, after Gertrude Stein,” she tells him. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Okay, _almost_ whatever you want, Britta.” 

* * *

Jeff falls in to anxious sleep, and dreams of his father. He wakes with a start, jostling Britta. “What? What is it?” she yelps, eyes focusing slowly. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he assures her, squeezing her arm gently. “I’m sorry I woke you. I just had a dream about my dad.” 

She lights up. “A _dream?_ About your _dad?_ How Freudian.” 

“Do you even know what that means?” he asks, irritated. 

“Of course I do,” she reaches for the textbook and her glasses on your bedside table. “I’ve been reading a lot about dreams. It’s a contested science, but I think there’s a lot of insight to be gleaned from the nocturnal realm.” 

“Britta, baby,” he catches himself. “Can I call you that now?” 

“I assumed you were talking to my stomach,” she smiles. 

“Please don’t therapize me right now, Britta. And baby,” he nods towards her belly. 

“Jeff, what better time is there to be therapized than the morning after you find out you’re having an unplanned child with the smokin’ hot blonde from your alleged Spanish study group?” Britta grins, flipping through the dense pages. God, she’s adorable in those glasses. 

“Please,” he groans, flopping back on to his pillow. “I don’t want to do this.” 

“Just give me five minutes, while it’s still fresh in your mind,” she pleads and he relents. “Tell me about your dream.” 

He sighs. “Alright, fine. We were throwing the ball around.” 

“What kind of ball?” she asks. 

“A baseball. I feel like that’s not the relevant part,” he says, irritation unmasked in his voice. But he carries on. “And I kept dropping the ball. Every time he threw it, I would drop it. Over and over again. And both of us just kept getting more and more frustrated.” 

Britta nods, furiously taking notes in the margins of her book. “And then what happened?” 

“Eventually he just got fed up, and he left.” 

Britta puts the book down. “I mean, I don’t think I even need to tell you how symbolic that is. How Oedipal.” 

“Britta, explain to me in what way specifically that is Oedipal?” Jeff demands. 

She blushes. “Busted. I still don’t know what that means, but at least I can pronounce it now!” she says, smiling. “But seriously. Dropping the ball? Your dad walking away from you? Again, I emphasize, on the eve of your finding out you’re going to be a father yourself?” 

Jeff is quiet. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He knows she hears the wobble in his voice. “Oh,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“Yes, you did,” he says accusingly, but with a smile. He blinks away a rogue tear. Not now. “That’s very specifically what you meant to do.” He kisses her on the cheek. 

“Jeff, we’re going to have to talk about it eventually,” she says. “If you’re going to be a daddy, you need to at least address your daddy issues.” 

“Okay, daddy is even worse than Tiger, somehow,” Jeff tells her. “But you’re right. I know I’ve got a lot of baggage. It’s just I’m taking in a lot of information right now. I don’t think I’ve even fully processed the fact that I’m back in your bed right now, let alone… all this.” 

Britta ruffles his hair tenderly. “That’s okay. We can take it slow.” 

“Nice and slow,” he agrees. “First we’ll have a baby, and then maybe in nine months I’ll ask you out on a date.” 

* * *

“Britta,” Jeff groans, stroking himself in time with the grinding of her hips. She’s braced herself against the headboard, thighs clenched tightly on either side of his head. A low groan, almost a growl, emerges from somewhere deep inside her. 

She’s sweet on his tongue, so sweet. He’s nearly choking, smothered under her as she chases orgasm. He flattens his tongue and lets her ride it, back and forth again and again until her rhythm starts to stutter. He feels faint, gasping for what little bit of air he can get as he feels his cock twitch, straining upwards in to his tight fist. 

“Jeff, can you feel me coming?” she whispers, and it sends him over the edge. His hips spasm upwards, cum painting his convulsing abdomen. They gasp together, each trying to catch their breath and keep themselves from collapsing altogether. He loosens his white knuckle grasp of her hips, her ass, as she begins to slow her pace. 

She takes a minute to recover before swinging her leg back over his chin, to lay down and slot herself in to his side. She kisses him, and finds his lips, his cheeks, his stubble slick with her. He wonders if she tastes as good to herself as she does to him. He watches, awestruck, as she brings a finger to his abdomen, swiping at the mess he’s made and bringing it to her lips. He groans, his spent cock twitching painfully as she takes a long slow lick of her index finger. “Jesus, Britta. Are you trying to kill me?” 

“You better believe it. Mama just had a month and a half off, she’s got a lot of pent up sexual frustration to take out on you,” she says, a devilish look in her eye. Without warning, she takes him in to her hand and squeezes. He winces, cries out from overstimulation. “Come on, daddy, I know you can do it again.” 

“Don’t call me —“ but he can’t even finish his thought, totally overcome with agony and desire. Plus, when she calls him daddy in that low growl, he doesn’t seem to mind so much. Or at all.

Before he’s ready, she climbs back on top, a determined look in her eyes. She sinks back on to him, taking all of him in one go and her eyes fall shut. He’s transfixed, watching the roll of her body, the twitch of her lip, the way she brings each nipple between her thumbs and forefingers. She squeezes herself around him, deliberately, he knows. Too quickly heat rises from low within him. “I’m gonna come,” he practically sobs. 

“Come for me,” she insists. “Come for me.” 

* * *

When she finally lets up, they bask in the afterglow and he can’t help grinning at her.

“What?” she asks, hand flying to her face self consciously. “Whaaaat?” she whines, anticipating a teasing. 

“Nothing,” Jeff says, still grinning. “I’m in love with you.” 

“Jeff, you’re n—“ 

He cuts her off. “Yes, I am. Let me finish. I’m in love with you. I have been since the day I met you.” She tries to protest again, but he pushes on. “You are, without question, the most irritating, infuriating, entitled, ridiculous person I know.” 

“Not really selling it here, Jeff,” she sulks. 

“Shut up. You inspire me. You make me want to be a better person. You _force me_ to be a better person, whether I want to or not. You’re smart, and funny when you’re not trying too hard. Your moral compass is all over the place, but you’re admirably committed to it. And you’re sexy, unbelievably so, and an absolute animal in the sack. Seriously, I don’t even understand how you do that thing with the…” 

“The Kegels? I know, dude. Insane, right?” she agrees proudly. 

“Insane!” he confirms. “And now, against all odds, we’re here, in your bed. And you’re pregnant, and it’s my baby, and we’re gonna be parents together. And that should be scary, and I should be running out the door right now. But I’m not. And that could only be because I’m in love with you. So frighteningly, intensely, overwhelmingly in love with you sometimes it feels like I’m gonna have a heart attack just looking you in the eyes. And it’s okay that you’re not ready to say it back, I can live with that. Because we’ve got nothing but time, and I know that if you let me, I can make you fall in love with me. I _will_ make you fall in love with me.” He stares at her determinedly. 

There’s a long silence. She holds his gaze unwaveringly. “Well. That was an uncharacteristically romantic Jeff Winger wrap-up speech.” 


	4. Basics of Early Childhood Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang finds out, and Jeff and Britta get some compelling news. Also, the Dean continues to be unhinged.

January eclipses in to February. They spend their reading break together. In fact, they’ve practically been living together since the night Britta told him they were pregnant. Jeff invites the study group over for dinner one Friday night, and Britta has to hide all of the evidence that would give away the fact that she’s been there for a week straight, stuffing sweaters and books in to his closet haphazardly. He doesn’t say anything, but Britta’s pretty sure Abed noticed there are two toothbrushes left on the bathroom counter. 

“Jeff?” Britta says after everyone’s left, uncomfortably full of Jeff’s surprisingly good vegetarian chilli. She’s splayed out on the couch as he does dishes in the kitchen, all his guests but her gone home. 

“Britta?” he calls back. 

“We’re gonna have to tell them soon,” she warns. She pulls her bulky sweater up towards her chin, exposing the tummy that’s finally starting to show. She rests a hand on it, drawing little circles absentmindedly. 

The water from the kitchen sink stops, and Jeff traipses over to her, half-sitting on the back of the couch. He smiles down at her, one of his rubber gloved-hands gently joining hers atop her stomach. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“I don’t know yet,” she says honestly. “I just don’t know what they’re going to think.” 

Jeff sighs, leaning backwards to let himself fall over the couch onto her lap. 

“Stop,” she giggles. When did Jeff start making her giggle? She can’t remember. “You’re crushing me. You’re gonna crush Baby.” 

He cranes his neck to kiss her stomach, looking at her upside down from his angle. “Maybe it doesn’t matter what they think, Britta. Isn’t that what you’re always saying? Fuck ‘em all?” 

“Right. Fuck ‘em all.” 

_______________

It takes another three weeks after that for anyone to catch on. Somewhat unsurprisingly, it begins with an especially hurtful comment made in line in the cafeteria. “Britta, you might want to lay off the muffins. You’re starting to get fat.” He’s eyeing her admittedly carb-heavy tray.

“What the hell, Pierce?” Jeff says defensively. 

“What? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Pierce replies. 

Britta looks for Jeff’s eyes anxiously. 

“Jeff would know,” Abed agrees. “They’re sleeping together again.” 

“Abed!” Jeff and Britta say at the same time. 

“It’s obvious,” he continues matter-of-factly. “Stolen glances…”

Jeff and Britta lock eyes for a moment. 

“Yes, like that one,” Abed continues. “Holding hands under the study room table. Jeff gave Britta his cardigan yesterday, which he’s made explicitly clear he would never do for any of us as it’s cashmere. Two toothbrushes at Jeff’s place, one with Britta’s lipstick on it. Plus, I’m pretty sure Britta is on birth control again.” 

Britta gasps. “Enough, okay? Yes, we’re sleeping together. Whoop dee doo.” 

“It’s okay,” Troy interjects. “You guys are nicer to us when you’re getting laid.” 

_________________

Jeff and Britta convene in the library later that day, before the rest of the group arrives. 

“I think today’s the day, Britta,” Jeff tells her, checking both ways before taking her little hand in to his and rubbing the back of it comfortingly. “Abed is going to figure it out and tell everyone first if we don’t do it now.”

Britta nods. She feels queasy, and not just in a morning sickness kind of way. “Why do they call it morning sickness when it lasts all fucking day?” she moans. 

“You alright?” he asks, squeezing her hand a little tighter. 

“I’m alright,” she nods again. “And you’re right. It’s time. I’m running out of boxy sweaters to wear. My favourite jeans don’t fit anymore,” she pouts. 

He kisses her forehead chastely. “And they probably never will again, sweetie,” he tells her, speaking realistically because he knows that’s what she wants to hear. Her skin tingles a little when he calls her “sweetie.” 

“I know,” she sighs. “And thank you for gaining sympathy weight with me. It feels a little better now that neither of us have abs.” 

“Britta, Britta,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I’m always gonna have abs.” 

She pokes his midsection, which of course is still rock hard, with maybe only the teeniest layer of pudge on top of muscle. “Alright, well as long as someone can still do the heavy lifting when we get the nursery set up.” 

“You got it,” he says, and leans in for a kiss. She smiles against his impossibly smooth lips. (She finally figured out how he keeps them like that — sugar scrub every night.) “So, we’re doing this?” 

Britta gulps, seeing Annie round the corner in to the library. “Yep.” 

Jeff squeezes her hand one last time before they take their spots at the table. “I love you,” he tells her. 

“Okay.” 

____________________

Jeff takes the reins once everyone has found their seats. “Guys, Britta and I have something we want to tell you.”

“You stopped sleeping together again?” Annie asks hopefully. 

“No.” 

“You want to join my church?” Shirley sings. 

“No.” 

“You want to join  _ my  _ church?” Pierce asks, reaching for a Neo Buddhism pamphlet. 

“ _ No. _ ” 

“You want to join me and Abed’s church?” Troy grins. 

“No. What? Since when do you…? Nevermind, no.” 

“Britta’s pregnant,” Abed says, and it’s not a question. 

“No… Wait, yes,” Jeff says, but at that exact moment, the Dean flourishes into the room dressed elaborately as some sort of sexy doctor. 

“Well, hello there!” Dean Pelton bellows in his nasally voice. “Has everyone had their Norepinephre-Dean today?” 

_ “What? _ ” everyone says at the same time, so it’s impossible to tell whether it’s directed at the Dean or at Jeff and Britta. 

“Studies show there’s been an uptick of ADHD on college campuses state wide, so this afternoon on the quad we’re giving out free samples of Levophed!” the Dean says enthusiastically, tossing a handful of loose pills and glitter in to the air and letting it fall on to the table. 

“You  _ can’t  _ be serious,” Annie says, but again Britta struggles to figure out who exactly she’s talking to. 

“Dean, you know how addictive prescribed substances can be,” Shirley warns. “We all remember what happened to Pierce,  _ and  _ sweet Annie.” 

“Hmm, yes. It occurs to me that perhaps this isn’t the target demographic for today’s event,” the Dean concedes. 

“Who exactly would the target demographic be?” Britta snarks. “And where did you get all the free drugs? Who’s holding?” 

“Disgraced Spanish teacher and noted psychopath Ben Chang has told me he has a friend in pharmaceuticals who is catering the event,” the Dean explains calmly. 

“Catering the —” Jeff can’t even finish his sentence. “Dean, can you please get out of here, we’re actually in the middle of something kind of important.”

“Sure thing, Jeffrey. Feel free to stop by my office for some free samples later. Don’t be shy!” he says with a wink. “And Britta, might I say, you’re just glowing these days. Keep doing what you’re doing!” And he’s gone. 

They’re all silent for a minute, and Britta scans the room for reactions. Annie’s mouth is still hanging open. Everyone moves to speak at once. 

“So —” Britta starts. 

“Did you say Britta’s pregnant?” Shirley asks in her stern voice. 

Britta and Jeff nod. 

Another silence. 

“And it’s your baby?” Pierce asks incredulously. 

They nod again. 

“How far along are you?” Shirley inquires. 

“I’d say about twelve weeks,” Abed interjects, flipping through a notepad. Of course. The cycle tracking. “I noticed Britta stopped going through her usual hormonal cycle in about mid-December. I assumed she was on birth control because she didn't strike me as the type to keep a baby. But this means she was probably inseminated…” he runs his finger down a column. “December 4th. Troy’s birthday.” 

“So me and the baby are going to have the same birthday?” Troy yells excitedly. 

“Not exactly, no,” Jeff says impatiently. 

“Good. Being a Jehovah’s Witness makes birthdays hard enough as it is, let alone if I have to share,” Troy says, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Alright, we’re going to allow one question from everyone. Troy, you’ve already used yours,” Jeff says assertively. 

“Will you name it after me?” from Pierce, surprisingly appropriate, though entirely misguided. 

“I’m not naming my child Piercenald,” Britta shoots it down. 

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Shirley asks. 

“Not yet,” Britta smiles. “But we’re actually going to find out after school today.” 

Shirley coos excitedly. “That’s nice. And you’ll get it baptized?” 

“One question,” Jeff says quickly and Shirley shoots him a look, as if she doesn’t already know the answer. 

“Are you still gonna become a therapist?” Abed asks. 

The question throws Britta off. She opens her mouth, then closes it again, unsure what to say. Jeff fills in for her. 

“Yes, she is,” he finds her hand under the table, grasping it soothingly. “Obviously this has thrown a little wrench in to our plans timeline-wise, but… I’ll stay home with the baby so she can finish her degree when she’s ready, and when it’s old enough we’ll get a sitter. And I’ll go back to being a lawyer, and Britta can start practicing.” 

Britta very nearly bursts in to tears. They haven’t talked about any of this, and she’s so grateful to Jeff for swooping in to save her. The truth is they don’t have anything even close to a plan, a fact that’s forever nagging in the back of her mind. She nods, smiling at Jeff. “That’s the plan, Stan.”

Annie still hasn’t said anything, and she’s gone as white as a ghost. 

“Annie, are you okay?” Britta asks gently, not wanting to startle her. 

Annie nods slowly. “Uh-huh.” 

Jeff and Britta are skeptical. “Are you sure?” 

“Can I plan your baby shower?” Annie asks abruptly. 

“Um… sure,” Britta says. “If you really want to?” 

“I do,” she says quickly. 

Jeff and Britta exchange a worried glance, but Britta smiles. “That would be awesome, Annie. Thank you.” 

Annie just nods wordlessly. 

“Okay,” Jeff says. “Now that that’s out of the way, what are we doing for this diorama?”

_______

For the first time, they walk through the halls hand in hand after class. 

“Slut!” Leonard hurls at them, and Britta genuinely has no idea which one of them he’s talking to. 

“Shut up, Leonard,” they say together, stride unbroken. 

They push through the front doors out onto the quad, ignoring the hordes of teenagers swarming the Free Drug Tent (it is literally labeled as such). 

The loudspeaker buzzes.  _ “We ask that each student only takes the appropriate number of drugs from the Drug Tent in order to avoid addiction or death,”  _ the Dean’s voice booms uselessly. 

Britta shakes her head incredulously. “Can’t wait to see where that plot leads,” she laughs. 

Jeff rolls his eyes and opens the passenger side of the car for her, shutting it behind her. He takes his seat behind the wheel, and already she’s grabbed the auxiliary cord to plug in to her phone. “Come on, Britta. The Police again?” he sighs as  _ Every Breath You Take _ cues up for what has to be the hundredth time this week. 

“I’m just really feelin’ ‘em right now,” Britta shrugs. “We could name our baby Sting.” 

He looks at her, appalled. “No. Absolutely not.” 

“Yeah, good call,” she agrees. She feels like she’s still getting used to the way that sounds.  _ Our baby.  _ She feels warm all over. 

“I feel like that actually went pretty well, all things considered,” Jeff says. He reaches across the back of her chair to shoulder check as he pulls out of his parking spot, and the ripple of his arm muscles through his cardigan sends a shimmer of desire down her spine. Patience. 

She nods. “I agree,” she says, and means it. “I mean, it’s no surprise Abed figured it out to the day. Do you think Annie’s gonna be alright?” 

Jeff considers this. “I think so. It’s always hard seeing your crush with somebody else, but she’ll get over it. Maybe we should set her up with someone.” 

“I don’t think that’s what she needs from us right now,” Britta warns. “Imagine if I tried to set you up on a date with someone right now.” 

He shoots her a look. “What, you think I have a crush on you?” 

Britta laughs. “I have my suspicions.” 

Jeff grabs one of her hands, brings it to his mouth to kiss. “Busted.” 

_________________

Britta hates the doctor, a fact Jeff has been made explicitly aware of several times over the last few weeks. “How are you feeling?” he asks, glancing over at her as they pull in to the parking lot outside the doctor’s office. Britta knows it's irrational, that she’s found the gentlest, kindest, most understanding OB-GYN and midwife possible. She knows Jeff is going to be there holding her hand all the way through, and that everything so far has gone totally smoothly and she has absolutely nothing to worry about. 

But that has never stopped her before, and it’s not going to stop her now. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” she says honestly, and swings the door open quickly so that she can do just that. Jeff rubs her back soothingly. 

“Baby sick or nervous sick?” he asks her, pulling her hair away from her face as she heaves again. 

“Nervous sick,” she confesses, sitting back in her seat and sighing, wiping at the corner of her mouth with the back of her sleeve. 

“Okay,” he nods and takes her by the hand, not seeming to notice or care about the teeny bit of vomit on the sleeve near her wrist. “What’s the worst news we could get today?”

“That the baby’s dead,” she says flatly. 

He actually laughs at what he at first reads as her melodrama, but soon realizes is her genuine fear. “Okay. Yes, that would be quite bad. But you’re what, 99.99% sure the baby’s not dead, right? You felt it wiggling earlier?”

She nods, clinging to his hand for dear life. “Super early. We’re gonna have such a smart, athletic baby. Maybe it’ll skip a grade.”

“Yes, we’re gonna have the smartest, coolest baby ever. He’s gonna be shockingly advanced for his age in all ways.”

She glares at him, and he catches his mistake. “Okay, he  _ or  _ she  _ or  _ whatever it decides it wants to be.”

Britta nods approvingly. 

He continues. “So we’re pretty much totally sure our baby is healthy and all good so far. And we can handle anything that isn’t that. So what’s the worst news we could get?” 

All she can do is smile. 

________________

“Are you  _ fucking  _ kidding me? _ , _ ” Britta roars. Doctor Nicholson is startled to the point that she jumps back, taking the ultrasound probe with her and away from Britta’s belly. 

Jeff is staring vacantly at the now empty screen. 

“I’m sorry?” Doctor Nicholson says. 

“ _ Twins? _ ” Britta implores, head spinning. “There’s  _ two  _ of them?”

Doctor Nicholson presses to cool metal in to her abdomen again, and with a gloved finger points to one and — sure enough — two little alien blobs. “Two fetuses, yes,” she confirms hesitantly. “A boy and a girl, from what I can see. It can be shocking news, I know. What is your gut reaction?” 

“I’m sorry, my gut reaction is I want my fucking body back. And my life back. Twins? I can’t afford to have fucking twins!” 

“Do you feel that you two are financially unprepared to support two children?” Doctor Nicholson asks gently. 

Jeff speaks seemingly through a fog: “I’ll cut a deal with my old firm. You know Ted will take me back on, with or without the bar.” 

“Okay,” Doctor Nicholson takes her cue. “I’m gonna step out for a minute and let you two talk.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’m sorry I misdirected my anxiety-triggered anger at you,” Britta says, pleased with herself for the amount of psychological jargon she was able to squeeze in to that sentence, even if it was a little messy and not especially accurate. 

When they have the room to themselves it feels a lot bigger. Uncomfortably big, and somehow also too intimate. Britta has a sudden overwhelming urge to bolt, but stays glued to her chair, wearing nothing but a little paper bib over her breasts. All she can hear is the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her eardrums. The silence stretches on too long, and she starts to fidget nervously, trying to keep herself from being sick again. 

“What are you thinking, Britta?”


	5. Whiplash 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So my timeline is a little wonky here. You'll notice that a character pops up here where they wouldn't have if this story was following the actual sequence of the series. But then again, there's a lot about this that isn't especially faithful to the show, for example all the explicit sex scenes.  
> Having said that, there's no sex in this one! Mostly just angst, and some family stuff.  
> PS Spot the Arrested Development reference!!

“Britta?” Jeff asks again, gently. “What are you thinking about?” 

He tries to read her face, but there’s almost nothing there to go off of. A minute ago it was anger, plain as day. But now. Fear, maybe? Sadness? 

Regret?

“Jeff, what are we doing?” she asks sullenly. 

“What do you mean?” he laughs nervously. 

And now she’s crying. “This insane, Jeff. How could we ever possibly have thought any of this was going to work?”   
He goes to her, tries to cradle her but she shrugs away from his touch. “But it _is_ working,” he says breathlessly. Jeff is reeling. First, from the news they’ve just received from the doctor. And now this. The far more painful shock of whiplash from this maddening, wonderful, magnificent if frightfully hormonal woman. 

“Jeff, we’re only together because I’m pregnant,” she tells him squarely. 

“Britta, I know you know that’s not true. I love you.” 

“You don’t love me, Jeff. You love the idea of a wife and kids, a family with a little white picket fence because you never got to have it when you were a kid. You love the fantasy. But I’m not that girl. You _know_ I’m not that girl, I can’t be.” 

“Britta. _Don’t_ play therapist with me. Not here, not now,” he says through gritted teeth. “I don’t want a picture perfect family. We already know that’s off the table. I want to be a good dad. That’s all I want.” He’s pleading with her. 

“And I’m totally incidental,” is of course what she gleans that. God, she frustrates him. He can’t tell if she’s being willfully obtuse and offloading her emotions on to him, or if this is the way she genuinely thinks he thinks of her. “Jeff, you could have a baby with anyone you wanted. Hell, get Annie knocked up, you know she writes about it all the time in her diary.”

“Britta, you’re being cruel,” he tries to say as delicately as possible. “To yourself above more than anyone. Baby, you gotta believe me when I tell you I love you. Anybody _could_ have my babies, but you’re the only one that _is._ ” 

She snorts. “That we know of.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he says, genuinely aghast. 

“Like you’re not gonna run off with some babe soon as I get too fat to fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Jeff says, almost laughing. “So you’re mad at me for hypothetically cheating on you at some point in the future. You have to understand how insane that sounds.” 

“I don’t think it’s any more insane than this pretty little delusion we’ve worked ourselves up in to,” she says harshly, glowering at him. 

“Britta,” he pleads with her, not knowing what else to say. “I love you. Somewhere along the line you got it in to your head that you’re not deserving of love, but that’s wrong. You’re wrong.”

“Oh, I _wonder_ where I could have gotten that idea,” she says incredulously. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but when I told you _I_ loved you _,_ you walked away and then kissed one of my best friends instead. So forgive me for being a little cagey.” 

The truth.

Jeff is flattened. Her words hang heavily in the air between them. They haven’t spoken about what happened on Valentine’s Day in over a year. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll never be able to take that back, I know. I was wrong. I was scared, maybe. I was being an idiot. But you have to know how sorry I am.” 

She stares seemingly through him, at the chart on the wall behind him. The cardiovascular system. 

“I need some space,” she says quickly. “We jumped in to this too quickly. We have _no_ plan. You don’t really think you could be a housewife, do you? I know this isn’t what either of us actually wants.” 

Jeff bites back tears, furious that she might be able to see his weakness. “I don’t know how else to tell you what I want, Britta. I want to raise these babies, and I want to do it with you.” 

“Alright, well I don’t,” she says, and there’s an air of finality to it. 

He aches for loving her, and in this moment it’s all he can do to stop himself from grabbing her, squeezing her against him until she can’t deny it. 

But instead, he says: “Okay. Then I guess I’ll drive you home.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly, still sniffling a little. 

_So Lonely_ begins as soon as he turns his keys in the ignition, taunting them. Britta turns it up so loud there’s no hope of any further conversation. 

He slows to a stop outside her building and switches off the radio. “Britta,” he says tentatively. “I don’t know what your plan is here. I don’t know if _you_ know what your plan is. Take your space, take your time. But I’m begging you to consider what you’re doing here. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew my kids were gonna grow up without a dad. I have to be in their lives.” 

She nods. “I know, Jeff. I wouldn’t do that to you. Or them.”

“Then please,” he begs her, grabbing her hand. It stays limp. “Please just think about what you’re doing. You don’t have to do this alone. I want to be there for every step.”

“I’ll see you at school,” she says, and swings the door open. He watches her walk in to her building and disappear in to the lobby, and when he’s sure she’s out of sight, he weeps. Big, ugly, body-wracking sobs. He cries until he feels like he might be sick, and then more. An outpouring of unfamiliar emotion. Tears of grief for losing her, again. Tears of fear of his uncertain future as a father. Tears of anger for her stubborn, infuriating willfulness. Tears of regret, for not being able to take back what he did to her. Months worth of feeling pour out of him in gasps and wails. 

Finally, he stills and when his hands stop shaking he drives the short rest of the way home. His apartment, this bachelor pad that has for so long been his electively solitary sanctuary, feels empty without her. He pulls out his phone, pausing only for a second before typing in the last number of the person he least expected to need right now. 

The phone rings once. Twice. Someone picks up. 

“Dad?”

* * *

“Who’s this?” his dad replies. So he doesn’t have Jeff’s number saved, either. Great. 

“It’s Jeff, Dad,” he says. “Who else calls you dad?” 

“Ah, Jeffrey,” William says, and — as always — it’s impossible to read his tone. 

There’s a long, awkward silence as the phone line crackles. 

“Do you want to get a drink?” Jeff finally asks before he can think better of it. 

He listens to his father’s breathing, wishing he could read his mind. He begins second-guessing himself immediately. 

“Sure,” William finally says. “I can meet you at The Red Door in an hour.” 

“You mean L Street?” Jeff can’t help but say. 

“No, I don’t,” William says gruffly. “I’ll see you at The Red Door.” He hangs up without saying goodbye. 

Immediately, predictably, Jeff is overcome with anxious anticipation, and he starts to drink. One glass of whiskey. Two. Three. He stops before a fourth because he doesn’t want to have to take the bus, then drinks it anyways and takes a cab instead. It occurs to him as he pulls up that the last night he was here was the night that his children were conceived and it sends him reeling.

He arrives early and does two laps of the block before working up the courage to walk in. Another drink. 

“Son,” he hears behind him, and swings around on his barstool to stand. Wobbles. Shit, he’s loaded already. 

“Dad,” he replies, trying to match his father’s flat tone as he takes a seat across from him in a booth. “How are you?” 

“I’m well,” he says, quickly knocking back the first of two glasses of whiskey. Like father like son. “How are you?” William is studying him, and Jeff fidgets under his critical eye. 

“I don’t even know how to begin to answer that question,” Jeff says truthfully. “I have some news.” 

His father doesn’t say anything, so Jeff just comes out with it: “I’m gonna be a dad.” 

William puts his second drink down. “Are you?” 

Jeff smiles in spite of himself, opening his suit jacket to reach in to the hidden breast pocket, retrieving the sonogram photo from the doctor’s appointment. He places it on the table delicately. 

“Twins?” William spots it immediately. 

Jeff laughs. Of course he did would catch that instantly after months of ultrasounds didn’t. “Yeah. Just found out today. A boy and a girl, they’re pretty sure.” 

William is quiet for a moment, seemingly transfixed by the image in front of him. “Who’s the mother?” 

“Her name is Britta,” Jeff says, his voice warbling a little at the sound of it. . 

“Lawyer?” William asks, picking up his drink again and easing back in to the pleather of his seat. 

“No, therapist. Well, eventually,” Jeff explains. “She goes to Greendale.” 

William chuckles condescendingly. “I see. And you two are together?”

Jeff sighs in to his drink, taking a long sip. “Not exactly. I don’t really know.” 

“Hmm,” William considers this. “So I’m gonna be a grandfather.” 

Jeff has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something he might regret. Something like _You can’t be a grandfather if you were never really a dad._

“How does that feel, old man?” he asks instead. 

William laughs. “Well, that doesn’t really matter now does it? I know you didn’t come here to talk about _my_ feelings.” 

Jeff smirks. “No, I didn’t. I guess I came here because I…” he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. 

“Because you’re terrified, aren’t you?” William says in a knowing voice. 

“Actually, no,” Jeff says. “I don’t know if I really am. I think I’m gonna be a good dad.” 

William nods, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Jeff feels anger rising in his chest, but keeps himself in check. He is here for a reason. “I need to ask you a favour,” he tells his dad. The whiskey is making him bold. 

“A favour?” William replies leaning forward, intrigued. “What kind of favour?” 

“I need money,” Jeff says honestly. “I’ve been coasting in savings since I left the firm. I’m going to ask them for my job back. But I want to ask you for a loan.” 

William is disgruntled. “How much money?” he asks, reaching for his wallet. 

“Three hundred thousand,” Jeff says, and William nearly chokes. 

“Three hundred thousand dollars? That’s a lot of money, Jeffrey,” his eyes are wide. “What, have you gotten yourself in to some kind of trouble?” 

“Only in that I’m going to be a father of two and I live in a bachelor apartment,” Jeff explains. “It’s for a down payment on a house.” 

William considers this. “But you’re not even with this woman, Brittany.” 

“Britta,” Jeff corrects him. “And I’m working on that.” 

“I see,” William nods, stroking the stubble of his chin. “So you’re thinking you can woo her back to you with this lavish gift?” 

“It’s not about wooing her, dad,” Jeff argues. “I want a good childhood for my kids, in a good home, not some sad single guy apartment.” 

“If that was a thinly veiled criticism of me, I won’t hear it,” William warns. 

“It was,” Jeff says, surprised by his own candor. 

William doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just watches Jeff, studying his face. 

“Dad,” Jeff pleads. “You owe me this. Don’t you want the redemption arc with your grandkids that you never got to have with me?” 

William sighs, and pulls out a cheque book. He scribbles the number, signs it, then extends his arm to pass it across the table. Before Jeff can take it, he jerks his hand back. “Do you love her?” he asks. 

Jeff nods. “I do.” 

William shakes his head, chuckles, and gives Jeff the cheque. “God help you.” 

After a few more drinks, both of their inhibitions are lowered and the conversation begins to flow more naturally. They talk, laugh, reminiscing about their few shared memories. Jeff doesn’t have the energy to point out the fact that on the rare occasions that they do see each other, they just cycle through the same three or four stories. They stay until closing time and stumble out together, cackling about something or another. Jeff hails a cab for them to share, and it stops at his place first.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that was actually fun,” he tells his dad, clapping him on the shoulder warmly. 

“So it was,” William smiles, then soberly: “Jeff, I want you to keep the money. Not a loan, but a gift.” 

“You’re not serious,” Jeff argues, flabbergasted. 

“I am,” William says, in a tone that leaves no room for further argument. “Keep it.” 

“Dad, I don’t know what to say,” Jeff says, and means it. 

“Just say thank you, son,” William says. 

“Thank you.” 

He steps out of the cab. “Good night, dad. Get home safe.” He’s about to shut the door, but his father stops him. 

“Jeffrey, you’re a better man than I ever was,” he tells him. 

Jeff smiles. “I know.” 

He watches the cab roll away until it’s just a speck on the horizon. 

* * *

Britta doesn’t come to school the next day. Jeff worries. 

1:38 PM _Hey. I know you want some space but I just want to make sure you’re ok._

“Jeffrey, did you find out if it’s a boy or a girl?” Shirley inquires gleefully when they get to the study room. 

“We did,” he grins. “But we’ve decided to keep it a secret, at least for a little while.” 

“Can I guess?” Troy asks. 

“Nope,” Jeff shuts him down. 

“Where is Britta today?” Annie asks tentatively. 

Jeff pauses for a moment, thinking of a quick lie. “She wasn’t feeling so great this morning, so she decided to take the day off to rest.” 

“When my mother was carrying me, she would chew tinfoil every night before bed to prevent morning sickness,” Pierce offers. 

“And look how well you turned out,” Jeff rolls his eyes.

“Exactly,” Pierce says, seemingly not reading the venom in Jeff’s voice. 

“Your mother also raised you in a house built of pure asbestos and is, as far as we know, currently a lava lamp,” Jeff says. “So hers may not be the advice I take.” 

“Suit yourself,” Pierce says. “But don’t blame me when your wife throws up on you in bed.” 

Everyone groans. 

“She’s not my wife,” Jeff says insistently. “Not even close.” 

Shirley makes the sign of the cross and whispers: “May god have mercy on their unwed souls,” loudly enough that everyone can hear. 

“I’m going to need to know the gender of the baby if I’m going to plan the baby shower,” Annie chimes in. Jeff is still bemused as to why exactly she’s decided to take on this task, given their complicated history. 

“None of you will be surprised to hear that Britta isn’t keen on gender roles,” Jeff explains, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. Look what she’s done to him. “I can’t speak for her, but I’m going to assume that extends to the baby shower, too.” 

Annie nods frantically. “Of course. Makes sense.” 

“Alright, that ends the baby interrogation portion of the day,” Jeff announces, quickly changing the subject. “Did anybody happen to steal the answers for the test tomorrow?” 

3:01 PM _Hey B. Hope you’re good. Miss you._

* * *

It occurs to Jeff, for a moment as he’s on his way to meet his realtor, that perhaps his plan to buy a house is a little outlandish. But then again, what is his life but a series of vaguely connected, increasingly outlandish occurrences and decisions? 

“Jeffrey, how nice to see you,” the realtor, Kiera, smiles. He’d forgotten until this very moment that he had actually slept with her the last time they saw each other, when she brokered his deal to buy his condo. She’s pretty, in that realtor kind of way. Sterile, but not off-puttingly so. Attractive, but not intimidating. Blonde hair that she no doubt touches up at the salon once a week. A wide smile that bears two rows of unnaturally white teeth. 

“Kiera, pleasure as always,” Jeff smiles. 

“Step in to my office,” she purrs, already hitting on him. She pulls out his chair for him before taking her seat on the opposite side of the desk. “So, tell me. What brings you here today?” 


	6. Introduction to Reconciliation and Overexertion

Another month, then two, then three go by. She had thought that this pregnancy would make her feel closer to her own body, her womanhood. But really, she just feels fat. Britta feels awkward and uncomfortable no matter where she goes. The physical component of her pregnancy is really beginning to take its toll. None of her clothes are even close to fitting her anymore. She’s self-conscious of the unmistakable and intrusive protrusion of her belly, and the sympathetic stares it earns her. She is always too hot or too cold. Her feet hurt. Her back hurts. Her boobs hurt. 

Her heart hurts. 

It’s May, and as the world comes alive with colour, and sunshine, and blooming flowers, Britta has never felt so dissonantly alone. She’s isolated herself from everyone who was even starting to get close to her. Shirley had become a sort of stand-in mother figure for her in the couple of years since she’d gotten to know her. Now she’s distantly friendly, having quietly aligned herself with Annie. 

Pierce’s response has largely been to the superficial changes to her body, commenting almost incessantly on the ever increasing size of… everything. She does her best to ignore him, and the rest of the group comes to her defense time and time again. 

Troy and Abed are too in their own world to offer her the support she needs right now. They’re friendly — they’re all friendly — but visibly uncomfortable around her. Knowing what they know, and how she came to be in the condition she’s in. And she has no doubt that everyone at the table has picked up on the strained turn hers and Jeff’s relationship has taken. 

And Annie. Annie who still struggles to look her in the eye. She catches her staring over and over again. Enviously at the expanding curve of Britta’s waistline. Longingly at Jeff. She sees Annie watching them, studying both of them hopefully, and it breaks her heart. What both of them need is a friend, someone they can talk to about the pain both of them are in. But they can’t be that friend to each other right now. All they can do is avoid each others’ eyes from either side of Jeff, exchanging niceties whenever the conversation demands it. 

Her apartment feels smaller and smaller every day, as the reality of _two babies_ looms larger and larger. She imagines a million different configurations of her furniture, trying to determine whether it's even possible to cram a double wide baby bed in to her shoe box apartment without having to get rid of her own.  
More than she ever has, she cries. When she drops her bus pass as she’s getting on the bus. When the sad beer commercial comes on during _Frasier_ reruns. When one of her cats does something especially cute. Sometimes for no real reason at all, and sometimes for the hundreds of very real reasons that seem to be piling up every day. 

Jeff comes with her to every doctor’s appointment, no matter how small. He holds her hand through every pre-natal class, whether she wants him to or not. He looks her right in the eyes while they practice their Lamaze breathing together, and he takes it all seriously. Maybe even more seriously than her. When her stomach gets so big she feels anxious to drive, Jeff starts chauffeuring her to and from school every day, and his back seat is piled with baby books. He asks her questions, offers his help, shares anecdotes from books that he reads. She wants to protest that she’s the one who’s pregnant and he could never understand what it’s really like to go through. But he’s so earnest, so engaged that she lets him rattle off the ner pregnancy facts he’s learned. 

And she lets him put his hands on her belly, sometimes for an hour or more at a time, just waiting to feel the movement of a tiny arm or leg. The alien feeling makes her uneasy, but he’s enamoured by it, fascinated. They’ll sit together in perfect silence while she does her reading for class and he stares at his hands on her stomach. A huge smile engulfs his face every time he feels a kick. “Did you feel that one?” he asks every time. 

“Yes, Jeff,” she tells him. “I feel them all.” 

And when his hands aren’t on her, his eyes are. A wolfish, hungry look. One she recognizes, one she’s indulged many times before. She can feel his desire for her, and the heat radiating off of him when he sits next to her. Sometimes she imagines him going home with her in his head, and what he might be doing to relieve some of his frustration. 

It’s near midnight, and she’s lying naked on top of her sheets. She knows it can’t really be as hot as it feels, but her hormones are spiking, and she can’t get the image of Jeff out of her head. She thinks of the way his mouth felt on her nipples, kissing her belly button, slipping between her thighs. She brings her own hand there now, and finds she can’t see it over the mountain of her tummy. 

Arousal comes to her like this in flashes, sudden and intense, and often at the most inopportune times. Like today at school when Jeff was giving a particularly rousing wrap-up speech in Anthropology class, and she couldn’t help but notice the swell of his muscles through his top. Jeff Winger in a white t-shirt is a weapon. She thinks of him now, leaning against Professor Duncan's desk, and imagines she’s before him, face nuzzled in to his throat and taking a deep breath of his scent. 

Her hand, as if it has a mind of its own, is suddenly reaching for her phone. 

11:57 PM _Thinking about you_

She can’t believe she just did that, and silently curses her body for acting against the will of her mind. Her phone buzzes seconds later. 

11:58 PM _Oh yeah?_

She sighs, one of her hands running over each breast, over her belly and then back to her sex. With the other hand she types. 

11:58 PM _Come over_

11:58 PM _Are you ok?_

Frustrated, she abandons one of the tasks at hand to type out another message quickly. 

11:58 PM _I need you right now. Urgent_

And then, to clarify: 

11:59 PM _Horny urgent, not baby urgent_

He’s there in fifteen minutes. 

* * *

She answers the door naked, and watches his eyes widen when it swings open. “Hi,” he says, drinking her in, pupils already expanding. “Wow.” 

He hasn’t seen her naked for a few months now, and she’s suddenly uneasy, wishing she had something to cover herself with. “Hi.” 

He steps in to her apartment slowly. The cats run to him, circling his legs to greet him, and he bends to pat them but never takes his eyes off her. “Britta, you look…” 

“Fat,” she says, turning away from him and feeling herself flush. 

“I was gonna say sexy,” he says standing, and taking a step a little closer to her. She can feel the sweat beading on her back, yet she shivers. 

“Oh,” she says, and gulps. Suddenly her mouth is watering. He takes another step closer, and her belly brushes against the front of his jacket ever so slightly. Goosebumps. “Really?” 

“Really,” he confirms, and it’s a whisper, the lust in his voice unmistakable. “You’re so hot like this, Britta. You have no idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you.” His hands are on her waist now, or what’s left of it. 

She looks him square in the eye, trembling involuntarily. “I was touching myself thinking about you.” 

He groans, one hand travelling over her stomach to the heat between her thighs, finding her already wet from wanting him. “Show me,” he says. 

She takes a few steps backwards to sit on the couch, and he takes a seat on the chair opposite her. He watches her hand slip over her breasts, bringing each nipple to a stiffened point, then down over her tummy to the wetness pooling between her legs. She fails to stifle a moan on contact, and relishes in watching him slowly unzip his own trousers, already tightening with his arousal. She moves slowly, dragging her index finger back and forth over her clit, feeling the responsive twitch of her muscles. 

Britta hears breath quickening. He takes his swollen cock in to his hand, pumping up and down painstakingly slowly. She _feels_ sexy under his gaze, in a way that she hasn’t really felt since she first got pregnant. But she didn’t invite him here just to watch her. 

“Jeff,” she says, and barely recognizes her own voice, thick with desire. “Come help me.”

He leaves the chair, drops to his knees and crawls to close the short distance between them. She spreads her legs wider, angling her hips upwards, inviting him in. Bent before her, he starts with her calves, his touch almost imperceptible as his hands glide up her legs, over her knees to her thighs. “Tell me what to do,” he says. 

“Touch me,” she begs, and he listens. 

His fingers are suddenly inside her, and she feels her body react by clamping down on them hard. He moans loudly at the feeling, curving his index and middle finger upwards, searching for and quickly finding the sensitive ridge and pressing in to it. “Fuck,” is drawn out on her lips, and immediately she starts to help his efforts by rocking her pelvis against his hand, the heel of his thumb connecting with her clit. 

And then his mouth is there too, and she has to shuffle her hips a little further forward in order to watch him work over the swell of her stomach. He groans against her, his tongue working quickly in conjunction with his hand, drinking up all that she’s offering him gratefully. One of his hands scoops under her ass to press her closer still against his face, and Britta’s hips stutter at the effect of it. She moves her hands from her thighs to grasp at his hair, to smooth his cheek. He looks up at her through heavy-lidded eyes, head bobbing up and down in time with the involuntary motion of her hips. The vibrations of his moans tingle against every nerve ending, and the tight knot of heat low in her belly unfurls rapidly, exploding in to orgasm faster than either of them could have predicted. She cries out his name, both hands clinging to fisfuls of his hair, the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. She hears him whimpering, no doubt beyond desperate now to catch up with her. 

But Britta isn’t finished, and almost as soon as the first climax ends she feels another one building. “More,” she insists. “Please Jeff, I need more. Do it again, it feels so good.” 

Without hesitation, he dives back in, this time adding a third finger. Bathed in the moonlight that seeps through the open window of her living room, Jeff is a kneeling worshipper at her altar. Her back arches and she gasps as orgasm crests over her once again. He does everything she tells him to and more, seemingly knowing this alien body better than she does. She’s hyper-sensitive, vibrating under every touch. It’s easy now, to coax climaxes out of her, one after the other until finally she begs him to stop, she can’t take anymore. He takes a final greedy lap of her and sits back on his heels, and both of them try to catch their breath. 

He stares up at her reverently, seemingly unable to look away. His face is slick with her, saliva and sweat and cum catching the scant light in the room. “Take me to bed,” she says, and he springs to action again. He stands, offering both hands to pull her to her feet. She takes them and lets herself lean against him, awkward though it may be with her stomach between them. 

She looks up to him and his eyes are pleading. “Kiss me,” he begs, with a kind of sad, pleading desperation she doesn’t recognize in him. She hadn’t expected her frantic lust to be met with this tenderness, this vulnerability. Her hands are wedged between their chests and she feels his heart hammering against her palms. She rises to her tip toes and when their lips connect for the first time she gasps from the warmth of him. She always forgets how good it feels just to kiss him and to be kissed by him. His hands cradle her jaw as his mouth opens to her, and she surrenders to him entirely. 

They stand there together, kissing and swaying and touching in the dark. Finally his hands find hers again and he guides her to the bedroom. He lays her down gently and finally peels off his own clothes to join her. At first they just lie there, Jeff spooned around her, right hand cupped gently, protectively around her belly. But there’s the insistence of his erection pressed against the small of her back, and the heaviness of his breathing by her ear that keeps her alert. “How do you want me?” he whispers through her hair, bringing his other arm under her neck and head as a pillow. 

“Whatever you need,” she replies, nestling backwards into him and earning a sharp inhale.

“I only need you,” he mutters in to the paper thin skin of her neck, biting that spot, then kissing it. 

“Then have me,” she says. 

He rolls away for just a moment to realign himself against her sex. She feels her abused and tired inner muscles twinge in anticipation. “Are you sure?” he asks. Even here, even at this point, he is hesitant, cautious with her. Britta quickly compartmentalizes the loaded implications of his uncertainty. 

“Yes,” she moans as the tip of his cock grazes the slick between her legs, making them both shudder. Britta nudges backwards, inviting him in. Even in its spent state, her body craves his intuitively. “I need to feel you to come inside me again. I need you.” No sense in being coy now.

“I don’t think I can last very long,” Jeff confesses, and she feels his cock throbbing achingly when he presses it against her. He groans and buries his face in to her shoulder. Finally, Britta reaches between her legs, taking hold of his cock and guiding him in to her. Immediately she hears his breathing hitch and his hips sputter, feels him swell and spasm deep inside her. He comes with a loud gasp, and pushes deeper still, draining every drop of his spend in to her core. The sensation is hot and familiar, and her body responds by catapulting her over the edge with him suddenly and powerfully. The force of her climax coaxes more and more out of him and as he cries out, she feels cum dribble out of her, painting the snowy flesh of her inner thighs.

And he keeps going back to her. He’ll roll away only to bring her close again, starting a new bout of hungry, deep kisses that only get him riled up and desperate for her again. “Britta, your body,” he says through gritted teeth when she labours to climb in to his lap, her legs opening over his hips. “Look at your body, look what we did.” He reaches up to her breasts and they both whimper desperately. They’ve swollen to three times their usual size, spilling out of his hands where they never had before, and his touch is sweetly painful. 

The last time, he’s unable to finish, and gently slides out and away from her, his hand still grasped tightly on her hip. “I can’t,” he says, not unhappily. Only now, finally, has he had his fill of her. They fall asleep just as the early morning light begins to creep through her window. His hand rests on her belly, his hold world under the weight of his palm. Finally, they’re still. 

  
  



	7. Exercises in Honesty

_They say that time can take the pain away, because time changes everything. But time forgot to change my heart. Yes, time forgot to change my heart._

The unmistakable crackle of needle hitting vinyl is what finally rouses Jeff from deep, satisfied sleep in the early afternoon. Daniel Romano croons in the other room. He rises slowly, body creaking and sore from last night’s marathon. He shakes his head, trying to clear it of the dizzying memory. He had never in his life felt the urgency, the desperation that had consumed him the night before. He was utterly enraptured by her, enamoured and fascinated and aroused by the new shape of her body. He shudders at the thought, standing, and finds Britta in the kitchen, wearing a gigantic Greendale athletics t-shirt that hangs off her like a dress. 

“Good morning,” she greets him warmly, and her tone catches him off guard. “Afternoon,” she corrects herself. 

“Hi,” he says, taking a seat at the island. He’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch her in the daylight. She looks tired, and she’s moving with an unmistakable stiffness. But she also looks relaxed, and happy, and so _beautiful._ He tells her so and smiles when she blushes. 

“Everything hurts,” she laughs, and plunks down next to him, offering a crumpet. He’s fairly certain she’s subsisted almost entirely on crumpets and pickles since she got pregnant, though she swears to him she always does her best to keep it balanced. She confessed to him that she’s been craving red meat, and he clandestinely delivered her a steak one evening last week, not revealing her secret to anyone. 

“Foot rub?” he offers. 

She laughs. “Not today, bucko. A foot rub is the start of a very slippery slope.” 

He grins, blinking away another salacious memory, and bites in to the buttery, spongey treat. They _are_ delicious, in her defence. They sit together, chewing quietly and enjoying the music that fills the room. It’s precious to him just to be near her. 

“Gotta get weighed again tomorrow,” she tells him through a mouthful of food. 

He nods. “I know,” he’s already memorized their schedule of doctor’s appointments weeks in advance. “They should be…” he scans his memory searching for the number. “One pound, twelve ounces.”

She chuckles. “You’re turning in to Abed,” she says jokingly. But she’s right. His obsession with their babies’ progress has eclipsed almost everything else in his life. Certainly, his attentiveness in school has slipped in the last couple of months. 

“Have you been thinking about names at all?” she asks, standing to retrieve a glass of orange juice for each of them. 

“Ben for the boy, Craig for the girl,” he deadpans, and she snorts. 

“I’m serious,” she says, still giggling at the idea of a little baby Dean or — god forbid — baby Chang. “We really don’t have a ton of time left to pick.” 

“I know,” he nods. “I’ve been keeping a list.” 

“Really? Me too!” she says excitedly. She hasn’t shared this warmth with him for a long time, and he relishes in the feel of it. But it makes him uneasy, too. How long until he does something to set her off, until she bolts again? “What are your favourites right now?” 

“Well,” he clears his throat. “For the boy, I’ve actually been thinking about William. Will, for short, is cute. I think.” 

“Isn’t that your dad’s name?” she asks, suddenly serious. She puts down the spoon she was about to use on her fork. 

“Yeah,” he says, trying to gauge her reaction. “We’ve sort of been… talking again.” 

“Jeff!” she practically squeals, and strikes him on the arm, maybe harder than she’d meant to. “That’s terrific. Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” 

He just stares at her, for a moment. As if she doesn’t know. “Because you don’t really talk to me anymore.”

She’s quiet then. 

“I wanted to tell you,” he tells her. He smiles weakly. “I knew how excited you’d be. But I know you’ve also got plenty of stuff to worry about without delving in to your baby daddy’s daddy issues.” 

Her shoulders shake almost imperceptibly. She’s going to cry, and so he clutches her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

There’s no stopping her tears now. “Jeff, I’m so sorry,” she warbles, her voice unsteady. 

His instinct is to comfort her, to tell he’s alright. But it isn’t. “What happened, Britta? Why did you run away?” 

Her eyes are wide and brimming with salty tears. “It’s complicated,” she tells him. 

“I’ve got time,” he says patiently, although he really doesn’t. He’s got a meeting with an interior decorator in an hour. 

She takes a long sip of her drink before she starts. “You know what happened to me. The dinosaur.” 

Jeff nods, surprised to hear her bring it up. His stomach turns. He squeezes her hand, remembering the night he first told her about it. It was early on, only a couple of months after they’d met. He ran in to her downtown just as she was leaving a rally, and they wound up in a bar, then another, and then eventually back to her place. They had fucked drunkenly, boldly naked and bent over her balcony, and she had let him sleep over for the first time. While they lay twined together in her bed, her loosened tongue whispered about a shadow that followed her around. 

She was ten, and obsessed with _The Land Before Time._ So for her birthday, her parents hired an actor in costume as a dinosaur. And when the actor in that costume had pulled her in to the Olive Garden bathroom when no one was looking, freshly eleven-year-old Britta couldn’t find the words to describe what had happened to her, and her parents didn’t believe her. They couldn’t, or wouldn’t help her. 

She’d made light of it to him that night. _Imagine that. Diddled by a fucking dinosaur,_ she had laughed to him. She couldn’t seem to get the real word for what happened to her out of her mouth. The story stuck with Jeff, haunted him now too. 

“It fucked me up. In all the ways that you would expect,” she tells him candidly. “Like the way my body doesn’t feel like it’s my own. Especially not now.” 

Jeff doesn’t know how to comfort her. 

“But it also made me…” she searches for the word. “Independent but, you know… in a bad way. In a sort of self-destructive way. I can’t take help… not from anyone. And I push people away. I pushed you away because I don’t know how to trust you. And this… being pregnant, and being with you and depending on you in any kind of serious way. That’s, like, all trust. And it’s so much all at once.”

Jeff’s heart aches, and he longs to pull her in to his arms, but he’s scared to spook her. 

“So it feels like I’m inconsistent, or like I’m non-committal,” she says, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. “And if I hurt you, and I know that I did... Then that’s why.”

Now Jeff feels his own eyes sting, and blinks furiously to keep it at bay. For once, he’s at a loss for words. He doesn’t know what to say. So he just holds her hand, and they sit together quietly, considering this threshold they’ve just crossed. 

“Sorry, that was a lot,” she finally says, breaking the silence. She looks at him pleadingly. 

“No, no _I’m_ sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry you feel like you have to go through all of this alone. I love you so much, and it’s horrible seeing you in pain like this. And I’m so grateful that you told me. It means so much to me that you would open up like that.” 

She cocks an eyebrow, a wry grin suddenly spreading across her face. “You’ve been reading my non-violent communication book.” 

He laughs. “Ya got me.” 

Britta laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. “Jeff Winger, you never cease to surprise me.” 

Wait until she finds out about the house he just bought.

When he has to leave, she walks him to the door. He kisses her long and slow, not ready to step outside the haven of her apartment yet. Who knows when he’ll be here again? “I love you,” he whispers to her. “I love you so much.” 

“Thank you,” she mutters against his lips, her fingers winding through his hair. She’s pulling him back in, daring him to stay. It takes so little attention from her to send all the blood in his body down between his thighs. But he can’t stay. 

“I want to. So badly, Britta,” he confesses, sighing in to her touch. “ His body betrays him, hips pressing in to her insistently. “But I have to go.” It takes every bit of strength he has to pull himself away from her. “See you soon?” she asks, leaning against the door frame and watching him leave down the hall. 

“Whenever you want me,” he says, and means it. And just as he’s about to get in the elevator, he walks back to her. “I love you,” once more for good measure. He grasps her face, kisses her deeply, tucks her hair behind her ear. Finally, he leaves. 

* * *

Jeff’s stomach turns with nervous excitement as he pulls up to the house. _His_ house. 

The garden out front is overrun, unkempt from the previous owner’s negligence, but he knows a good landscaper. The house itself is sweet. Two stories, with mossy green wood paneling and big, cream and black framed bay windows. He closes his eyes, pictures himself on that front lawn, his kids running around with water guns. He can almost hear their laughter. He smiles, swinging the car door open. 

“Carl, hi!” he waves to the man waiting for him on the porch, his building contractor. 

“Afternoon,” Carl greets him. He’s a burly man, almost as wide as he is tall. He’s pure muscle, and not in the same sculpted way that Jeff has to target so deliberately at the gym. “How are you my friend?” 

“Excited,” Jeff grins, turning the key and opening the front door. “I’ve got lots of ideas.” Inside, sunshine pours in and touches every corner of the front rooms, illuminating the beautiful original wood flooring. The walls are stark white, with Art Deco curved archways leading between the rooms. Jeff ushers Carl in to the kitchen, and he gasps approvingly at the checkerboard floor tiles. “So I’m thinking I want to paint these cupboards like a marigold colour, or maybe mossy green like the outside.” 

“I love it,” Carl agrees, jotting that down in his notepad. “And I just found the most perfect dining set to go with it.” 

They stroll from room to room, bouncing ideas off of one another. Jeff’s vision for the house is a lot softer than the apartment he’s lived in for the last four years. Less overtly masculine, less clinical. He wants this to really feel like a home. They get to the master bedroom. It’s huge, bigger than any room he’s ever had, and for the first time Jeff feels sincerely grateful that he chose to settle down in suburban Colorado rather than the expensive big city. There’s no way he could have afforded this in Denver. 

After Carl leaves, Jeff finds himself alone in the big house. He takes a seat on the floor of what will soon be a nursery. It feels empty, lonely when it’s just him, but his vision for the future is warm and lively. Chaotic, noisy, messy. Joyous. And Britta’s there. Their conversation earlier was encouraging, a breakthrough, but he still feels uncertain of where he stands with her. 

2:37 PM _How are you feeling?_

2:38 PM _Sore and sleepy. Still reminiscing about seeing you on your knees in my living room last night…_

Jeff grins, remembering what it felt like to look up at her, to feel her coming around his fingers, against his mouth. 

2:40 PM _Same here. You want me to come over again tonight? I’ll pick up some Chinese._

She sends back a picture of herself grinning goofily, giving him a thumbs up. She’s pulled up her shirt to expose one of her breasts. Jeff grins, laughing to himself. 

2:42 PM _So that’s a yes, then?_

2:43 PM _Yes!!! I want deep fried szechuan garlic tofu pleeeeease_

He has to go back to his own apartment to change first. Annie is waiting in the underground parking. “Jesus, Annie,” he says. “How did you even get in here?” 

“One of your neighbors let me in. I’ve just got one of those faces that people always let in to buildings,” she explains. “I need to talk to you about the baby shower.” 

“And you couldn’t think of a less terrifying way to get to me?” Jeff asks, perplexed. 

She shrugs.

“Alright,” he sighs. “Do you want to come upstairs for a bit?” 

She nods, and follows him to the elevator. When they get to her apartment, he offers her a drink, and makes his own a double when she says no. “So, the baby shower. What do you need to know?” 

“It’s not really about the baby shower,” she confesses, taking a seat on the couch. 

“Oh?” Jeff says wearily. 

“I want to clear the air,” she tells him. 

“Oh.” 

“This has been hard for me. Really hard,” she says honestly. “I love Britta, and I love babies, and I’m so excited for her. And you. But I’m also really mad at you, and that makes me mad at her. And I don’t want to have to resent _her_ because _you_ broke my heart.” It all comes out at once. 

He sits on the seat opposite hers, takes a sip of his drink and considers what she’s said. God, today has been heavy. “I didn’t know I broke your heart.” 

“I didn’t want to admit it for a long time, because I was embarrassed. But I know you know how much I like you. Liked you.” 

He nods. “Yeah, I had noticed.” 

“Then why did you kiss me, Jeff?” she asks, and her big eyes look sad. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and it’s the real answer. “I was having a bad day. It was reckless.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It was.” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really didn’t.” 

She sighs. “I know you didn’t _mean_ to, Jeff. But you still did it. And you never owned up to it, and you never apologized.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Annie. What I did was wrong, and hurtful, and a mistake.” 

She stands. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted.” 

“Really?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes, really,” she says. “I’m really good at compartmentalizing.” 

“Alright…” 

She has her hand on the doorknob when she turns to ask: “Where do you think Britta’s party should be?” 

“I think I know just the place.” 

* * *

Jeff is back at Britta’s place, tofu in hand, by seven o’clock. She greets him with a warm, eager kiss. 

“Hi,” she says breathlessly, and she’s staring up at him with this adoring look that just makes him melt. He puts the food on the side table and pulls her in to his arms, kissing her again. 

“Did you miss me?” he asks in to the top of her head when he finally comes up for air. 

“So much,” she says, grasping at his face to bring their lips together again. 

He shuts the door behind him and drops to his knees, pushing up the hem of her sweatshirt so he can kiss her belly, feeling a kick as he does so. “Hi babies,” he says against her skin, then stands again. 

They eat together on the couch in front of the TV, her legs kicked up over his. She laughs too hard at all of the least funny bits in _Waiting for Guffman,_ and for some reason it’s endearing to him. He does wind up rubbing her feet after all, and — as predicted — it quickly escalates to something more. This time when she takes him back to her bedroom, they move slowly, undressing each other carefully and deliberately. He takes his time to kiss all the new parts of her body he’s still getting to know. The few little ghostly white stretch marks just below her belly button. The extra padding on her hips and bum. The new fullness of her lips. He makes love to her — and that’s really what it is — slowly and assuredly. He holds her close when she comes, savouring the gasps and mewls of delight that escape her, and soon he’s right there with her.

As they’re falling asleep, he could swear he hears her whisper: “I love you.” 

But he must have imagined it. 


	8. Jeff and Britta Making Amends

Britta sinks back on to Jeff’s lap, burying him deep inside her. 

“We’re gonna be late,” he gasps, fingers turning white from gripping her hips so hard. 

“I know,” she groans, rocking forward and back. Her body is facing away from his, and she looks back at him over her shoulder as she rides him. “You think you can do this quickly?” 

“Make me,” he says, grinning, and she takes it as a challenge. Counterintuitively, she slows her movement down. She clamps her legs tighter together and feels him respond in turn by flexing upwards in to her. She lets her body roll, and looks back to see him watching her. His pupils are blown, watching her ass salaciously as she slides up and down the length of him against his groin. She catches him licking his lips, and brings her hand to her sex to push herself further. She sits forward, supporting her weight with one hand on his outstretched calf, until just the tip of him is left inside her, and then she jiggles up and down, willfully tightening herself around him. A litany of curses fall out of his mouth, and when she sits back on him suddenly, she feels him come hard and fast. “God _damn,_ Britta,” he gasps as she rides him through his climax. “I’m always right on the edge with you.” 

She knows it’s true. Usually, he’ll take his time with her, make sure that she’s had her fill before letting himself go. But all of that is pure self-discipline, and his orgasm is forever just a hair trigger away, so when she asks him to come quickly, he does it. She pulls off of him, turning herself around to kiss her way up his abdomen, over his chest, his neck, and then finally to his lips. There’s still a fire burning deep in her core, untended to and desperate for relief. But there’s no time now, so instead she rolls herself off the bed and starts to get dressed. “We’re gonna need to buy a couple of car seats,” she says, thinking out loud as she runs a comb through her bedhead. 

“Mhmm,” he agrees, and she watches in the mirror as he comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and up under her shirt and bra to bring her breasts in to each of his hands. She gasps at the feeling of his fingers tight around her nipples. “I know you’re not finished,” he whispers in to the most sensitive part of her neck, and she shudders. “Don’t you want to come, Britta?” 

“Of course I do,” she says through gritted teeth. “But we’re going to be late for our appointment.” But her body betrays her, grinding back on to him intuitively, and his hands snake to the button of her jeans, undoing them deftly. His fingers make quick work of her, and they lock eyes in the mirror when her body starts to seize, her hips bucking forward of their own accord. 

“You can come, Britta. I know you need to,” he mutters in to her hair, and she fucks herself onto his fingers until she feels her legs start to give out under her and she comes forcefully. Suddenly, there’s a rush of fluid and she’s soaked herself entirely through the denim. They stand heaving in front of the vanity, Britta supporting her weight with her hands against the mahogany wood, staring at each other through the glass. 

“Britta, did you just…” Jeff starts, a new arousal flashing darkly in his eyes. 

She nods, catching her breath. “Yeah, I think so.” 

She feels him stirring again against her back through his trousers, but this time she’s insistent. “Jeff, we really, _really_ don’t have time now. Plus, now I have to get changed.”

“Has that ever happened before?” he asks when she pushes him away to get to her dresser, peeling off the soggy jeans and trading them for leggings, the only other things that really fit her anymore. 

“No, it hasn’t,” she says, herself still sort of shaken by the experience. 

He looks smug with himself, and the tightness in his pants doesn’t go unnoticed, but has to be ignored in the interest of time. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” she winks, hoisting the leggings over her belly with some effort. “Let’s go, Tiger.” 

_Tiger._ That hasn’t come out for a while. 

They laugh together in the car all the way to the doctor’s office, and even more when the receptionist refers to Jeff as _Mister Perry_. “You coming, Mister Perry?” Britta asks, squeezing his hand when the nurse emerges and calls her name. 

“Right behind you, Mrs Perry,” he smiles, and a warm tingle spreads all down Britta’s spine. 

“Jeffrey!” Doctor Nicholson says brightly when they enter her office, no doubt noticing their interlaced fingers. “What a pleasure to see you again. How are you?” 

“Very well, thank you,” Jeff replies eagerly, pulling out a chair for Britta to take a seat. “Glad to be here.” 

The doctor smiles warmly. “And I’m so glad to hear that.” 

The rest of the appointment is a breeze. “Baby girl is just a little bit bigger than baby boy,” the doctor tells them, gesturing to the sonogram screen. 

Britta pumps her fist in the air victoriously. “Hear that, daddy-o?” she taunts, and he sighs, knowing he’s just lost $50 in their bet. 

“Loud and clear, mamacita,” he concedes. 

“Would you two like a print out of the sonogram?” the doctor asks. Britta is finally far along enough that they can get one of the fancy new ones where you can actually see the babies’ faces. 

“Yes,” they say at the same time. 

“Maybe two of them,” Jeff suggests. “I want one for my wallet.” 

* * *

“Annie came by yesterday,” Jeff tells her when they're back on the road, pulling out of a Starbucks parking lot. (Britta is morally opposed to big-brand chains of any kind, but lately the babies have been demanding those excessively sugary strawberries and cream frappuccinos.)

“Oh?” she asks, her stomach turning at the mention of her name. She’s instantly on edge. “How come?” 

“She wanted to hash things out. This is disgusting, by the way,” he says, stealing a sip from her drink. “Clear the air.” 

“And how did that go?” Britta asks, snatching the unnaturally pink beverage back from him. 

“It was good, actually,” he says, switching back to his own black coffee. “A weight off my shoulders, for sure. And for her too, I would imagine. Has she gotten in touch with you at all?l

“Just about the baby shower. She says she’s found a location, but she won’t tell me where it —” she’s interrupted by the pinging of her cellphone. “Ooh, spooky! I just got a text from Annie.” 

“What does it say?” Jeff asks. 

“She’s wondering if I’m free to get lunch,” Britta says, a note of panic in her voice. 

Jeff’s eyes dart from the road, to her, then back again. “Are you?” 

Britta nods. “I think so, yeah. Can you drop me off?” 

“Where to, Miss Daisy?” 

“Enough,” Britta snorts, rolling her eyes. “You know we’d be in my Prius right now if my gut wasn’t the size of a house.”

Jeff laughs, taking a hand off the wheel for a moment to rub her belly lovingly. “I know.”

“How about that sushi restaurant by her place?” Britta suggests. 

“Sure, but you can’t eat the raw fish, okay?” he warns. 

Britta laughs, patting her hand over his where it’s resting on her tummy. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“I know, I know, you’re an unwavering militant vegetarian,” Jeff says. “It’s just that you’ve been… wavering, lately.” 

Britta smiles. “People can change.” 

* * *

Britta arrives a couple of minutes before Annie, and the server ushers her in quickly, fawning over her and her tummy. There are some little perks to her condition, it seems. 

Annie arrives, adorable as ever in her matching cardigan and dress, and flounces over to the table. “Hi,” she says warmly. 

“Hi,” Britta says back. “How are you?” 

“I’m really good,” Annie says, and it feels to Britta like she really means it. 

Britta takes a glug of her water, trying to slow her racing heart. She really shouldn’t be this nervous, she tries to reason with herself. 

“So —” they begin at the same time, then both laugh awkwardly. 

“You first,” Britta offers. 

“Okay,” Annie starts, putting her menu aside. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. For a long time.” 

Britta nods hesitantly. 

“But I’ve been so embarrassed,” she continues. “I think… I thought that what Jeff and I had was something special. Something different from what it actually is, which is… nothing, I guess. Not nothing. But just friendship.” 

Britta is quiet, so Annie trudges on. 

“And so when I found out you two were sleeping together again, and _then_ when I found out you were pregnant, I was hurt. And so _jealous._ When you first told us, I thought I was going to throw up. Or stab you with my pen. Or something.”

Britta gasps. 

“Okay, obviously I wouldn’t have _stabbed_ you. But I was devastated, and I wanted what you had so badly, I let it consume me. For months.” 

“I’m so sorry, Annie,” Britta tries. 

“Don’t be! _You_ have nothing to be sorry for, and I already got my apology from Jeff. I didn’t come here to guilt trip you,” Annie insists. “I feel like I’ve done that enough. I know you’ve felt the tension, I know you know our friendship has suffered because of this. But I think I’ve realized that I love you, _and_ Jeff, enough to want to grow and heal from this. It’s not worth losing two important friendships over a stupid crush. And when I look at the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him… Who am I to get in the way of a love like that?” 

Without warning, Britta bursts in to tears. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she says, her cheeks flaring red with embarrassment at her outburst. Annie takes her hand comfortingly. “I just really missed you.”

Annie has tears in her eyes, too, but she’s doing a much better job of keeping them at bay. “I missed you too.” 

“I’m so sorry Jeff is such an idiot,” Britta says, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. 

“He can’t help being a man,” Annie offers gently, and they both laugh. 

Their server approaches. “Should I give you another minute?” 

Britta shakes her head, still sniffling happily. 

“Actually yes, we need one more minute,” Annie contradicts her, and when she walks away she turns to Britta: “Can I give you a hug?” 

That sets Britta off again. “Of course you can, Annie.” 

They stand and embrace, and Britta sobs in to Annie’s shoulder, awash with happiness and relief. “Thank you, Annie. For being the one to make the first move, and talking to me. You’re so much braver than me.” 

“Braver than _you?”_ Annie laughs, sitting back down. “You’re the one having twins with Jeff Winger.”

* * *

After lunch, they get ice cream cones and go for a walk around the park, and Britta is quickly exhausted and needs to sit on a bench. They find one opposite the playground, and Britta watches in wonderment as children and their parents run frantically around the play equipment. She’s aware, distantly, that Annie is talking, but she’s transfixed. That’s going to be her someday. Someday _soon._

She thinks of her own parents, the good times. The early days, before the dinosaur. Before everything got all fucked up. They were so warm, so attentive. Her dad would take her to the park and join her in her imaginary world for hours on end. 

And her mother, the person who she still credits more than anyone with shaping her in to the woman she would become. She was fierce, strong-willed, and raised Britta to be the same way. She taught her to speak up for herself and others, always. Until suddenly, she didn’t. 

Neither of them knew, yet, about the babies. She hasn’t spoken to either of them in ages, and can’t fathom making that phone call. _Hey Mom and Dad, I know we haven’t talked in almost five years but I just wanted to let you know I’m having twins with a disgraced lawyer I met in community college._

“Britta? Britta?” Annie’s voice cuts through the fog. 

“Yes, sorry,” she shakes her head, coming back to earth. “I’m listening.” 

“Are you alright?” Annie asks. 

Britta nods slowly. “Yes. Just thinking about my parents.”

“Oh,” Annie says quietly. She knows the CliffNotes version. Britta used to be close to her parents, now she’s not. “Are they upset?” 

“They don’t know,” Britta tells her honestly. “And they’re not going to.” 

“You don’t want them to be in the babies’ lives?” 

“Well, with Jeff getting friendly with his dad again, I think they’ll have more than enough shitty grandparents,” Britta says, lapping at her caramel cone. She watches a little one fly down the slide in to her mother’s arms gleefully. 

“Fair enough,” Annie shrugs, and turns her attention back to her own ice cream. “Alright, I can tell you don’t want to talk about this. What kind of cake do you want at your party?” 

Britta smiles. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something great. Just no pineapples, I’m allergic.” 

Annie pulls out a notebook and scribbles that down. “Good to know. I’m so glad I’ve got you, I’ve been completely winging it with so many of the preparations, and you know useless Jeff is with this kind of thing.” 

“He says you’ve got some great ideas,” Britta says through a mouthful of ice cream. “I have total trust in you. He says you’ve found the perfect place, I’m so curious.” 

“You’re going to _love_ it,” Annie emphasizes. “The house is so cute.” 

“House?” Britta’s interest is piqued. 

Annie suddenly turns white as a ghost. 

“Whose house, Annie?” Britta asks. 

“I’m not supposed to say,” Annie says, of course only making Britta more intrigued. 

“Hey, I don’t mind spoilers,” Britta says, gently prying. “Whose house is it? Please don’t say Pierce, I don’t need any weird, erotic art from the 80s at my baby shower.” 

Annie laughs. “Oh god, I would never. No, it’s not Pierce’s place. Britta, I really can’t say. It’s not my surprise to unveil!” 

Britta’s eyebrow raises curiously. “What does _that_ mean?” 

“I really, really can’t tell you,” Annie says, and her tone is serious. 

“Oh, come on, Annie,” Britta shoves her shoulder playfully. “What if it surprises me _too_ much and I go in to early labour?” 

Annie looks petrified. “Can that happen?” 

“Absolutely, it’s called…” Britta says, scanning her mind for that bit of the pregnancy book Jeff had dictated to her. “Acute stress-induced preterm labor.” 

Annie gasps, and Britta stares her down. She knows if she pushes her hard enough, she’ll break. 

“Okay, but you have to _promise_ you won’t speak a word of this,” Annie says. It's even easier than she thought. 

Britta sticks her baby finger up. “Pinkie swear.” 

* * *

Britta’s ears are still ringing when Jeff comes to pick her up a few hours later. 

“Hi,” he greets her with a kiss, and he steps around the car to open the passenger side for her. 

“Hi,” she says in a daze, sliding in to her seat. She stares straight ahead, and he plunks down next to her, pulling out of the parking lot. 

“You alright?” he asks, concerned about her silence. She hasn’t reached for the auxiliary cord yet. 

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

“No, be honest with me,” he says sternly. “Did things go south with Annie?” 

She shakes her head. “No, not at all. It was really great to see her. I don’t think I really realized how much I missed her.” 

He’s silent, nodding. 

She just comes right out with it. 

“Jeff, did you buy a house?” 

“God _damn_ it, Annie,” he hisses under his breath. 

“So that’s a yes?” Britta demands. 

He pulls over to the side of the road. “Yes. I bought a house. With three bedrooms, and a huge back _and_ front yard, and the most beautiful kitchen, and…”

“Can I see it?” Britta asks, gently. 

He’s caught off guard. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Right now?” 

“Yeah,” Britta nods. “Right now.” 

  
  
  
  



	9. Final Exam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!  
> I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this ending. It's very possible that it'll end up tweaked or rewritten in some way, so read it while the press is still hot!  
> Thank you for your words of encouragement, and for sticking with the story all the way through! <3

It’s golden hour when Jeff pulls up to the house. The For Sale sign is still up, the red letters reading “Sold” burning in to his eyes menacingly. Maybe this was a huge mistake. He gulps nervously. 

“This is it,” he says. The bay windows look especially inviting in this light. 

Britta steps out of the car without saying a word, and he follows her wordlessly. 

She turns to him. “Is this supposed to be like the episode of The Office when Jim buys a house without telling Pam?” 

Jeff can’t help but laugh. “Yes. But don’t you think our show is a lot funnier?” 

She smirks. “Do you have the key?” 

He nods, and leads her up the staircase, helping her when she wobbles. 

He pushes the door open. _Home._

The house faces south, and it’s bathed in early evening light. If she was ever going to pick a moment to unexpectedly find out about the house and demand to see it, this would be exactly the right moment. Everything — the walls, the windows, the floorboards — looks magnificent. 

“Oh, my god,” Britta says, her jaw dropping. “It’s so beautiful.” 

“Didn’t I tell you it was?” he smiles, quietly pleased with himself. Maybe he’s going to pull this off, after all. 

“I mean, yeah but…” she trails off, discovering the white brick fireplace, running a finger over the antique mantle. “I didn’t even know there were places like this in this town. It’s _perfect._ ” 

“Wait til you see the claw foot bathtub,” he tells her eagerly. 

“No _way._ Just like my birth plan, _”_ she exclaims. He follows her around from room to room, relishing in her approval. He shows her the room that will be the nursery, and she gasps at the sheer size of it. 

“And when the kids are old enough to want their own rooms, there’s another one down the hall,” he tells her. 

“Jeff, oh my _god,_ ” she’s astonished. “How the fuck did an out-of-work lawyer afford all this?” 

“I had a little help from my dad,” he says. “A lot of help, actually. He’s pretty keen on being in the kids’ lives, and I told him it was the least he could do to earn a little good will. And he agreed, somehow.” 

Britta’s mouth is still hanging wide open, taking it all in. He takes her by the hand, guiding her to the master bedroom. “Jesus, every room is bigger than the last. You guys are gonna live like kings, they’re never going to want to stay with me.” 

He feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “Well, actually… I mean, obviously, this isn’t the way I’d envisioned telling you at all,” he starts. “But I was thinking we would all live here. Together. And this would be _our_ bedroom. Unless you wanted to take the little one down the hall, and then the kids would have to—.” 

And then her lips are on his, and her arms are around his neck, and she’s just everywhere. “Yes,” she says against his mouth. “Yes.” 

“Really?” he asks, pulling away. 

“I love you,” she says, and the floor falls out from under him. 

“ _Really_?” 

“Yes!” she says emphatically, and kisses him again. 

“And you’re sure it’s not just the house?” he asks, stunned. 

She laughs. “Yes, I’m sure, Jeff. I’m actually kind of mad about the house, if anything. You really should have asked me. I am _not_ Pam fucking Beesly.” She kisses him again, long and slow, and Jeff feels like his brain is short circuiting. “But I am absolutely, unquestionably, beyond a shadow of a doubt, entirely certain that I am in love with you.” 

“ _Really_?” Jeff asks again, incredulous. He knows how dopey he sounds, but he just can’t seem to think of anything else to say. 

She looks up at him adoringly, her face radiating warmth. She puts her palms on his cheeks, cradling him. Both their eyes are swimming. “Really.” 

* * *

The house is ready just in time for the baby shower, which winds up being just three days before Britta’s due date. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” Jeff asks nervously as they pull up to their new address. Tonight will be their first night actually sleeping there. “What if you go in to labor at the party?” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Britta assures him, patting his hand. He steps out of the car. 

“How do you know that?” Jeff asks, opening her door for her and helping her to her feet. She’s more beautiful than ever, and wearing a flowing white linen dress. She looks like a fairy.

“Because I’m a _woman,_ Jeff. I’m deeply in tune with my body at all times.” 

Jeff laughs and she hooks her hand in to the crook of his elbow as they walk through the gate and up to the front stairs. “Isn’t that what got us in to this mess in the first place?” 

She kisses his cheek. “I seem to remember someone saying that if the babies are happy and healthy then we can handle anything else that gets thrown at us, right?”

He kisses her back, finding her lips warm and inviting. “Well, let me know if you find that guy, because I could use that blind, foolish confidence right now,” he tells her. “And maybe some extra hands to get you up these stairs.” 

She smacks his arm playfully. “Come on, man. I’m pregnant, not geriatric.” 

But the stairs _are_ difficult for her, and not made any easier by the fact that she knows everyone is watching from their hiding spots inside. Annie was petrified by what Britta had told her about stress-induced labor, so she’d emailed both of them a three-page detailed blueprint of where everyone would be hidden at the party so as not to startle her. They knew behind which couch and door and archway each person was hiding behind long before Britta pushed the door open. 

“Surprise!” everyone yelled, emerging from their hiding spots. 

Britta’s hands fly to her mouth in genuine astonishment. It’s the first time she’s seen the house in its complete form, since the movers dropped off all their things, and she’s bowled over with emotion. The house is immaculate, and the perfect combination of Jeff’s and Britta’s tastes, even carrying over some of their old furniture from their respective apartments. There’s her old mustardy-yellow velvet couch (the one where he’d watched her hungrily while she played with herself), and there’s the armchair from his old bachelor (the one where they’d fucked the very first time). Her _Patti Smith_ poster right next to his _National_ poster. 

But maybe even more surprising than that is that everyone there is in costume. Annie is Gloria Steinem, with her oversized aviator glasses tucked over her hair. Troy is a dragged-up Angela Y. Davis, and Abed is Malala Yousafzai. Pierce seems to be Susan B. Anthony, although he could just as easily be Queen Victoria (or fat Brando in women’s Victorian garb). And Shirley is either Sojourner Truth or Ida B. Welles, but Britta is too scared to ask after the confusion last Halloween. Dean Pelton appears to have not been alerted to the theme, and is dressed as Liberace, but he’s making it work. 

“Welcome to your baby shower, Britta!” Annie says excitedly, pulling Britta in to a warm embrace. “The theme is Feminism and Revolution.” 

“Which we all thought was pretty funny considering the _literal_ white picket fence outside,” Troy chimes in. 

Britta laughs, and Jeff relishes as he always does in the sound of it. 

“Yeah, all of this is definitely a deviation from your character,” Abed adds. 

“I’m not a character, Abed,” Britta says indignantly , but her smile is unwavering. 

Abed smiles back. “I misspoke. What I should have said is this is character development, and I like it for you. And you,” Abed nods to Jeff. “Who would’ve thought this would make such good TV? Imagine if Britta’s water breaks at the party?” 

“This isn’t —” Jeff cuts himself off. “You know what, you’re right. That would be a damn good finale episode, wouldn’t it?”

“Especially if you two get married in the end,” Shirley interjects in sing-song. “It’s not too late to save your children from being bastards.” 

“I don’t need or want to be married,” Britta tells her patiently, smiling up at Jeff. “Jeff doesn’t need to own me to know that I’m in love with him, and that I’m committed to spending my life with him.” 

“And I just took out a mortgage and borrowed money from my dad to buy and furnish a house, I can’t afford a fucking wedding,” Jeff lightens the mood to spare everyone the discomfort of Jeff and Britta fawning over each other like the school kids they’re emulating. The strength of his affection for her is nauseating to him, too. 

Everything is different now. She said “I love you” and the whole world was a little brighter. They spend every night, every day together now. Laughing, making love, talking until the early hours of the morning. They visit the house every day after school, painting the rooms together until finally it becomes too much for Britta, and then she will drag the easy chair in to the room and read to him while he paints alone. Sometimes they just lie there on the bare mattress on the floor in the kitchen, the only thing left to paint, telling each other stories of what the future might hold, who their children might grow up to be.

She loves him effortlessly, like it‘s second nature. She anticipates his every need — a comforting touch on the back of the hand, a pep talk, a quickie in the bathroom at Olive Garden — before he can even think it. When finally she’s too big and too uncomfortable to have sex, they’re content to just lie together, staring, smiling, kissing, holding hands. 

“I love you,” he will tell her, and “I love you,” she’ll say back every time. 

And now here they are, days away from this next, even more insane chapter of their lives. 

He wraps his arm around her, resting his hand on the opposite side of her waist and pulling her flush against his side. She grins up at him. 

“Annie, this is amazing, and so thoughtful,” she says, turning back to the group. “Everyone looks so great. I’m just sad I don’t have a costume.” 

“Welllll,” Annie says excitedly, ducking around to corner to retrieve something. “You’re in luck!”

She reemerges with a beautiful flower crown, dotted with real Baby’s Breath, Bittercress and Ninebark flowers, all of them plucked from the backyard Britta has begun to leave her mark on slowly. Annie places the crown on Britta’s head delicately, and smiles. “Our very own Aphrodite, patron saint of love and fertility,” she says proudly. 

Britta’s hormones are running at an all time high and the effort her friends have put in to this is all a little much. “Oh man,” she chokes out, eyes swimming. “Annie, this is all so thoughtful.” 

“You like it?” 

“I _love_ it,” she says. “It couldn’t be more perfect.” 

* * *

Annie really did go above and beyond. She’s created themed drinks — Misandrai-tais, Rosé the Riveters and Mom-hattans — and non-alcoholic versions of each. The living room and kitchen are lovingly decorated with flowers and tea lights, quotes from various feminist writers on motherhood hand-painted on to miniature canvases all over the house. 

Jeff and Britta sit together on the couch holding court in their home — _their_ home — for the first time. She’s radiant, Rubenesque and glowing inside and out. Happier, more at peace, less combative than Jeff has ever seen her.

In the quiet moments, when their guests are distracted, Jeff leans over to her to whisper sweet nothings. “Look how much everyone loves you,” he tells her, and he kisses her softly. “You look like an angel. Better than that, a _goddess._ ” 

She kisses him back, then takes a sip of her mocktail. 

“Oh, stop it,” she says, blushing. “You’re making me queasy.” 

“You’re just killing me, baby,” he insists. “You’re adorable. Perfect.” 

Britta just smiles. 

At some point, the Dean finds the record player and queues up ABBA, so naturally everyone gets to their feet to start busting a move. Jeff can’t help but laugh at Britta’s struggled movements, twirling her slowly, cumbersomely to Dancing Queen. She tires quickly, and he joins her on the couch. They watch their guests laughing, dancing, chatting, chewing. The sun starts to go down, and slowly the crowd starts to peeter out, leaving them alone in their completed home for the first time. 

Jeff puts on Britta’s favourite _Nashville Skyline_ , picking the song _Lay Lady Lay._

_Lay lady lay. Lay across my big brass bed. Stay lady stay, stay with your man a while. Until the break of day. Let me see you make him smile. His clothes are dirty but his, his hands are clean, and you are the best thing that he's ever seen…_

He helps her to her feet, and they sway together as the sun finally dips below the horizon, room lit only by the twinkling fairy lights and candles on the mantelpiece. “How do you feel?” he asks her softly, rubbing her back as they move together. 

“Full,” she says, resting her head on his chest. “Full of love. And vagina-themed appetizers.” 

“Yeah, I can't believe Annie convinced Shirley to decorate such explicit cupcakes.” 

“And in such _detail,”_ Britta laughs. “But seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this loved and supported before. Like, in my life.” 

Jeff smiles, stroking her hair. “I’m so glad. You’re so deserving of it.” 

She beams up at him, and there’s a sudden motion in her belly between them. “Did you feel that?” she asks, looking down at the now-huge mountain of her stomach between them. 

He gets on his knees before her, pressing his cheek against her tummy. “They want out, don’t they?” 

She runs her fingers through his hair, smoothing it against his scalp. “God knows I’m ready to evict them.” 

He holds his hands on either side of her stomach reverently. “We’re gonna be parents any day now. How many times a day does that hit you?” 

“Like, every thirty seconds,” she laughs. He kisses her belly button through the linen of her dress, then stands again. “Are you scared?” she asks him. 

He searches her eyes before saying: “No. I thought I was for a while, but I think I was really just mistaking excitement for fear. I’m ready for this. I love you, like an insane, disgusting, heart wrenching amount. And I love our kids maybe even more than that. And I also feel like my entire life has led up to this moment.” 

He blows out the candles and guides her to the stairs, taking her free hand as she uses the other to grasp the railing. “How do you mean?” 

“I guess,” he says, bringing another hand around her back to steady her. “I’m just really ready to prove that I’m not my father.” 

She stops, catching her breath. “I’m so proud of you,” she says between gasps. Jeff is pretty sure she snuck at least one Mom-hattan (and this late in the game, who could blame her?) and it's making her sappy, as it always does. “And I’m so proud to be starting a family with you. You’re going to be an amazing dad. I mean that.” 

Jeff is suddenly swept up in the moment, and tears spring to his eyes. He squeezes her hand. “Thank you, Britta. You’re going to be an incredible mom.” 

She wipes away a rogue tear from his eye with the soft pad of her thumb, and they make their way up the rest of the stairs to the bedroom. He helps her out of her dress, peels off his own clothes til he’s down to his boxers, and eases her in to bed beside him. 

As he hears her breathing start to slow, he whispers: “Hey.” 

“What?” she whispers back, not opening her eyes. 

“You were right. You didn’t go in to labor at the party.” 

He sees a smile spread across her face in the dark. 

“Told you so.” 

* * *

Naturally, Britta’s water breaks at two o’clock that morning. 

When the midwife doesn’t answer the phone, Jeff doesn’t panic. He runs the bath, brings some of the lights from downstairs in to the bathroom and arranges them around the tub. He returns to her, helps her to her feet and down the hall, lowering her in to the tub with some effort. 

It’s intense, and frightening, and alarmingly serene. Britta curses and screams, but powers through with confidence and determination. 

And then suddenly, they’re parents. All four of them cry, Jeff sobbing joyously and holding his son against his chest while watching Britta do the same with her daughter. They’re exhausted, and overwhelmed, and the brand new hexagonal tiles of their bathroom floor look like a murder scene. But as the sun comes up over their new little life, everything is very quiet. 

“I love you,” Britta says, a baby on each arm as Jeff helps her groggily back in to bed, the midwife now finally en route to tend to her.

“Britta, that was heroic,” he tells her, kissing her sweaty forehead as he lays down at her side. “If there was ever a time for you to preach female supremacy to me, this would be it.” 

She laughs, tired. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words.” 

They lay the babies between their two bodies, not yet ready to let them out of their sights for even a second. Both of them need sleep, but can’t seem to keep their eyes closed. 

Jeff leans over the tiny little souls between them to kiss her again. “I love you, too.”


End file.
